The Devil's Covenant
by Will Fagan
Summary: After Voldemort's return, Harry finds an unlikely ally. The Child of Light made a deal with a demon. A snarky, sexually promiscuous, slightly insane, possibly incompetent demon. Rules are going to be broken (as well as the fourth wall, and probably some bones). Yep, the Wizarding World is screwed. Reviews are welcome! Sequel up now!
1. Deus Ex Machina Is A Tired Trope

**10/4/16 Decided the first chapter wasn't quite up to snuff with the rest of the fic. I tinkered with it a bit, and I'd like to say it's an improvement on the original.**

 **I don't own Harry Potter. J.K does. Don't sue me. The song is 'Crossroads' by Robert Johnson (popularly covered by Eric Clapton). I don't own that song, but if Robert Johnson wants to sue me, go ahead. He'll have a hard time doing it FROM HELL! That joke makes sense, look it up.**

* * *

Harry had no idea where he was. Seconds ago he had been in the graveyard, watching in horror as Voldemort's jet of green light slowly began to overpower Harry's disarming spell. Now he was… somewhere else.

It appeared to be a diner. The kind seen often in American films. The vinyl booth seat under him was cracked and slightly sticky. The smell of hot coffee emanated from the kitchen. A song was playing on a jukebox: Harry didn't know much Muggle music, but he'd heard Dudley blasting it in his room often.

 _I went down to the crossroads,_

 _Fell down on my knees._

 _I went down to the crossroads,_

 _Fell down on my knees._

 _Asked the Lord above for mercy,_

 _"Save me if you please."_

Cigarette smoke hung in the air, despite the fact that there were no other patrons present.

When Harry glanced back towards his table, he jolted in shock. A man was slouched casually in the booth opposite him. He was dressed in an immaculate black suit with a red necktie and a red handkerchief tucked in the breast pocket of his jacket. A cigarette rested in the corner of his mouth.

"You look like hell," the man said brightly, blowing rings of smoke out of his mouth as he spoke. He pointed to the coffee table. A steaming mug of black coffee appeared before Harry. "Drink that, it'll numb the shock, wake you up a bit."

Harry took a swig, grimacing as the drink burned down his throat. The man waited patiently. "Better?"

"Not particularly," Harry gasped. He shook his head as a horde of questions began jostling around in his brain. "Who are you, and where am I?"

The man sat up straight and held out a hand. "Where are my manners. The name's Vassago, at the moment. I have many names, and many faces. This name and face are my favorites." He paused and glanced around. "As for where we are, call it a Midpoint, a mystical plane halfway between life and death." He frowned and peered out through the grimy window. "Or it could be New Jersey, they look awfully similar."

"Why did you save me?" Harry asked.

"I didn't save you. Not yet, at least. I've just called 'time out' for a little halftime show. Vassago gestured to Harry's coffee cup. In the reflection, Harry could see the graveyard. He and Voldemort were still locked in battle; Cedric's body lay between them with the Tri-Wizard Cup.

"Cedric," Harry said suddenly. "Can you save him, too?"

"Who?" Vassago asked, then smiled and remembered. "Oh, yeah, the Hufflepuff, right? Older, more handsome and charming and all-around more brilliant than you? Unfortunately, he's already moved on to the Great Upstairs."

"He's dead," Harry whispered. "I killed him."

"You didn't kill him. Your dad's deadbeat friend did. My advice, don't worry about it. Ole Cedric's probably prancing around Heaven playing leapfrog with Jesus, Mother Teresa, and the rest of those Holier-Than-Thou dipshits. He'll be fine. Might get reincarnated." Vassago leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "Something tells me his career's really gonna start to _bite_ after this." He winked several times.

"Is that some kind of reference I'm supposed to understand?"

"Forget it, you have bigger things to think about."

"Voldemort," Harry muttered.

"Yes. It appears he has returned. As if three years of foreshadowing hadn't been enough of a hint."

"He's going to kill me."

"That's up for debate, Mr. Potter, which is where I come in." Vassago stubbed his cigarette into an ashtray. Harry suddenly noticed it was not lit. Smoke was still wafting out of Vassago's mouth. "Fourteen years old and you've already fought the Dark Lord twice, killed a basilisk, freed a wanted criminal, and competed in a dangerous tournament way above your skill level with a fair level of competence. Now you're about to get your ass handed to you by a racist lunatic with a face that looks like it's been sat on. Fate seems to have made you her bitch.

"Yet that's an ending hardly fitting for the Boy-Who-Lived, isn't it? My kind and I have been watching you for some time. We are quite riveted by your story. It would be a pity if it were to end on a low note."

"What are you?"

"Your friendly downstairs neighbor,"

"Are you the devil?" Harry asked, bluntly.

"I've been called worse," Vassago said with a shrug.

"If you're the devil, surely you'd be rooting for Voldemort?" Harry asked, confused.

Vassago frowned. "Now why would I do such a thing?"

"Well, don't you usually side with the bad guys."

Vassago laughed. "Me, the bad guy? Yes, I suppose that could be argued. I have done some bad things. I'm not the villain in your little story. In fact, you could think of me as your little guardian... " he trailed off for a second. "I was going to say angel, but that's not literally correct. Fucking semantics.

"Anyway, I've brought you here to give you an offer. I would very much like to help you in your endeavor," Vassago said as he produced another cigarette, this time lighting it with a snap of his fingers. "If you were to agree, I can give you the training and assistance necessary to defeat Voldemort."

"You can't just defeat him for me?" Harry asked.

"Unfortunately, no. That would be a direct interference with events topside. Also, that would torpedo this story before it gets interesting. I can't fight your battles for you, but we can give you the tools and knowledge to fight them yourself."

"What's the catch?" Harry asked. "What do you want in return for helping me?"

Vassago chuckled. "What makes you think there's a catch?" He saw Harry's expression and nodded. "No point in lying to you, you're too smart to be fooled. Of course, since you've asked, there is the usual payment in exchange for supernatural aid."

Vassago picked up a sheet of paper from the desk. "According to Infernal Regulation 6C-34, _'In return for any infernal aid, the receiver of said aid is required to reimburse the infernal agent with the payment of one human soul'_." Vassago handed Harry the form. "It's all written in this contract I've prepared for us to sign."

"My soul."

Vassago nodded, "It's the standard payment. Sometimes we make exceptions, but not often."

Harry frowned. "So, in return for my soul, you will help me kill Voldemort."

"Yes."

"If I refuse?"

"If you refuse, then you die in that graveyard, and Voldemort gains unrivaled control of the Wizarding World. Darkness and chaos will spread across the land, and the universe will collapse, and a global literary franchise will take a serious financial hit."

"So the alternative is not advisable."

"Those are your words, not mine."

Harry frowned. "I guess there's no other option." He stared down at the form, as the weight of his decision pressed down on him like a collapsing brick wall. Finally, he looked up at Vassago. "I accept."

"Splendid." Vassago handed him a pen. "Just sign on the dotted line."

Harry wrote his signature out on the paper and gave it to Vassago. "So what happens now."

"You're going back to the graveyard."

"You forget, I'm about two inches away from a killing curse to the face."

"Then I suggest ducking and diving for your ticket back to Hogwarts."

"My ticket?"

"You'll figure it out. Good luck, we'll get in touch with you soon." With that Vassago snapped his fingers, and Harry felt a rush of panic as time resorted itself.


	2. Deus X2: Electric Boogaloo

**Chapter 2! Who'da thought I'd actually write one? Not this guy, but then I did. Classic Will.**

 **Edit: Added in a chase sequence. Heard a review from one of my Chilean viewers ( _Buenos Dias de Wisconsin!_ ) who said that he wished the chapters could be a bit longer. Ask and you shall receive!**

The first thought that went through Harry Potter's head as he read the Hogwarts expulsion letter in his hand was an expletive that should not be repeated in polite company. However, this is an M-rated story, so I'll just go ahead and say it. _Fuck_. There, how's that for adult language?

His second thought was two words: Run away. So he grabbed his trunk, his owl, and invisibility cloak and ran out the door before his relatives had a chance to murder him.

It wasn't until he was two miles away from Privet Drive that he realized how stupid an idea this was. Fifteen years old, alone in London, no clue as to where to go, wanted by the Ministry. He supposed he could go to the Leaky Cauldron, attempt to contact the Weasleys. They'd know what to do.

He was startled from his thoughts by a green light. Instinctively he dove out of the way and rolled behind a garbage bin.

"You missed him!" a voice said.

"That was just to scare him," another voice said. "The Dark Lord wants him alive."

 _Death Eaters_. Harry swore for the second time that night and grabbed for his wand.

"Come out, Potter. The Dark Lord doesn't like to be kept waiting," one of the voices called out. Harry peered from behind the bin and saw the flash of a silver mask in the street lamp's glow.

Just then, a car fishtailed around the corner of the alley and plowed through one of the Death Eaters with a sickening thud. It was a black American sedan of a style now widely seen since the end of the Space Race. Screeching to a halt beside Harry, the passenger door was thrown open, and Harry was surprised to see Vassago behind the wheel. "Need a lift?"

"Where did you come from?" Harry asked.

"I took the M3 from Twickenham," Vassago said. "Now get in the fucking car!"

They took off with the squealing of tires and rocketed out onto the main road, taking out a mailbox and several trashcans, as well as a very unfortunate squirrel. The remaining Death Eater shot several hexes at the car before summoning a broom and taking off in pursuit.

"Buckle up, Harry. This isn't the Night Bus," the demon said.

"I don't know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing," Harry said as he hurriedly adjusted his seat belt.

They rocketed onto the toll road, the engine roaring menacingly as it took the shoulder to pass a lumbering milk float. A hex from the Death Eater's wand hit the truck. The resulting explosion sent the truck on its side. Vassago swerved out of its way, milk bottles exploding off the windshield, accelerated onto the oncoming lane. Cars honked and braked as the demon spun the car back into the right side of the road.

"Damn, why did you have to leave the house?" Vassago said. "You've broken the narrative."

"What narrative?"

"Nothing, nevermind, forget I said anything." Vassago swore as the Death Eater shot over the car and spun in mid air. "Duck!"

A blast of green light shattered the windscreen. Vassago jerked the wheel left, sending the car through a barrier and down a muddy embankment. "Hold on!" he shouted as a large wood fence loomed ahead of them.

 **SHIFT OF PERSPECTIVE FOR JOKE SETUP!**

Meanwhile, the Dursleys had left the house and taken off for the nearest hospital, intent on giving Dudley medical care.

"Bloody boy and his damn ilk!" Vernon shouted as he ran a red light. "He's going to be the death of me!"

"Slow down!" Petunia screamed, cradling her Diddykins in her lap. "You're going to get us killed!"

"Calm down, Petunia!" Vernon bellowed. "It's quite alright. There's no one else out on a night like this."

Just then the fence running alongside the road exploded into splinters as a black American sports car plowed through, sideswiping the Dursley's Rover and disappearing down a convenient alleyway.

"Jesus Christ!" Vernon screamed. The Rover spun out and slammed into a row of parked cars. The airbags deployed, muffling whatever fierce barrage of curses ensued from the elder Dursley's mouth.

Petunia started screaming again. "Shut up, woman!" Vernon beat back the airbag and grabbed his wife by the wrists. "It's alright. Everyone is alright. No one is hurt."

It was then that the Death Eater shout through the gap in the fence and, disoriented, was thrown straight through the Rover's passenger window. Petunia resumed her screaming, while Vernon began to furiously assault the dazed wizard with his meat-pie fists.

 **AND BACK TO OUR HEROES.**

"Those were the Dursleys," Harry said, peering behind them.

"Shame we couldn't stop to chat," Vassago replied tersely. The car turned out of the alleyway and down a main thoroughfare. Vassago glanced in the rearview mirror. "We seem to have lost our tail."

"Where are we going?" Harry asked.

"I'm taking you to your godfather's house," Vassago replied. "Right after you left Privet Drive the Weasley's sent you an owl, telling you they were coming to pick you up."

"Great, first letter I receive all bloody summer and I'm not there to get it."

"Are you going to be this angsty?" Vassago asked. "We're not even three chapters in and it's like I'm sitting next to Holden freaking Caulfield."

"Who?"

"Jesus, read a book once in a while," Vassago turned and reached for something in the back seat. "I got you something," Vassago said, producing a leather satchel bag. "Happy birthday, Harry."

"What is it?" Harry asked, surprised the the demon's gift.

"Your basic travel bag, magically tweaked. It's bigger on the inside." He reached in and pulled out a book. "Here's some light reading material," he said, tossing it to Harry.

It was an old leather-bound book, of a kind not produced since prior to Gutenberg's marvelous printing press. Harry wiped dust off the cover and read the title. "Dark _Magicka for Funne and Profitte_. This is a book of dark magic."

"Way to connect the dots. You're a real puzzle solver. I bet you're great with anagrams."

"I can't take this," Harry said firmly.

"You wanna take on Voldemort, you gotta learn to fight on his level."

"By learning the Dark Arts?" Harry asked. "Dumbledore says the Dark Arts are a gateway to evil."

"He also agreed to place a magical stone in the school basement and guard it with a three-headed dog," Vassago said. "The man is rather inconsistent, isn't he?"

"I'm not sure about this," Harry said, looking down at the book with a growing sense of dread.

"Says the kid who sold his soul to the devil. Know thy enemy, kid. Besides, there are some great illustrations in there, real " he held out the bag, "There's more inside. Some candies, combat boots, body armor. A cell phone (untraceable), some condoms..."

"Why do I need condoms?"

"How old are you, seventeen?"

"Fifteen."

"Yikes," Vassago reached in the bag and pulled out a small paper box. "I'll be keeping those," he reached back in and pulled out a bag of what looked to Harry like oregano. "I'll be keeping this too. Sorry, I'm rubbish at gift-giving."

Harry took the messenger bag from Vassago and looked inside. "What is that?"

Vassago looked in the bag. "Oh yeah, forgot about that," he reached in and pulled out a bulky black object.

"Why is there a gun in my bag?"

"A man's gotta have some protection," Vassago said. "In hindsight, it probably would have helped us a bit back there."

"You're pointing it at me."

"Oh don't be such a baby. The safety is…" he glanced down and flicked a switch with his thumb "-on."

"I'm not taking a gun to school."

"If you insist," Vassago said. "Oh look, we've arrived.

The car screeched to a halt. Harry looked out the window. They were parked outside an empty lot between a row of old council houses. "Where are we?"

"12 Grimmauld Place. The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix."

"There's nothing there." Then, to Harry's surprise, there was.

"I'll let you see yourself to the stoop. It'd be better if the Order didn't know I was involved… yet." Vassago reached over Harry and pushed open the passenger door. "See you, Harry."

"Thanks, Vassago."

"Don't mention it." Vassago reached over and picked up the gun. "You sure you don't need this?"

"I'd rather not."

"Your funeral." Vassago tossed the gun into the back seat.

BANG

"What was that?"

"Dammit," Vassago swore, rubbing his ears. "The safety switch on that thing is really finicky sometimes."

 **WOAH! Action packed, innit?**


	3. Franz Kafka's Rolling in His Grave

**Remember how the description said 'No Slash?' I might have to take that back.**

If the sense of dread Harry felt as he sat before the Wizengamot for his hearing had him on edge, what happened next did nothing to ease his mind.

"Sorry I'm late!" a familiar face shouted as he barged through the council room doors. "Traffic was a real bitch, I'll tell you that. You all oughta try driving here rather than apparating; it really puts a new perspective on the miracle of magic."

"Who in the blazes are you?" Cornelius Fudge asked, standing up from his chair.

"The name is B. L. Z. Bub, attorney at law. I am here on behalf of Mr. Potter, who has hired me to help in his defense."

A cough from the tribunal. Dolores Umbridge, of course. "We were under the impression that Mr. Potter would be representing himself."

"And why should he do that?" Vassago asked, traversing down the stairs towards Harry's table. "A fourteen-year-old boy asked to defend himself? That's judicial suicide! Fortunately I'm here."

"Great," Harry said, putting his hands over his face.

"We were not aware that Mr. Potter had requested legal council," Fudge said imperiously.

"Yes, it seems that most lawyers were reluctant to take Mr. Potter's case. I wonder why," he glanced up at Umbridge and Fudge.

"Mr. Potter, is this… man your legal council?"

Harry remained silent for a few moments, wondering whether the demon would hurt or help his case. "Yes, Minister. I saw his name in a Prophet advertisement, and gave him a call."

Vassago sat down next to Harry and smiled up at the stone-faced Wizengamot. "Well, let's get this show started! I would like to begin by requesting the use to Veritaserum on Mr. Potter."

"The court does not see any reason to resort to such measures," Fudge replied icily.

"Why not? Shouldn't we hear the truth? Or is that not the point of this whole fiasco?"

"Objection!" Umbridge declared.

"Overruled," Vassago shot back.

"You can't overrule me!" Umbridge replied, taken aback, "That's not up to you."

"Madame Bones, control your unruly witness."

"Ms. Umbridge is not on the stand," Amelia Bones replied.

"Good. The court would now like to call a five minute recess."

"Stop talking or I'll have you in contempt!" Fudge shouted.

"Mr. Minister, rest assured, you already have my contempt," Vassago replied.

"How dare you!" Fudge's face looked red as a beet with high blood pressure.

"You know, I've completely lost track of what we were talking about," Amelia Bones said.

"I requested the use of Veritaserum on the defendant."

"Does Mr. Potter agree?"

Harry was silent. "I do."

"Mr. Bub, stop mimicking Mr. Potter."

"As a lawyer, I think I speak for my defendant."

"Figuratively, not literally," Bones said. "Well, Mr. Potter, do you agree to undergo the administry of Veritaserum?"

"Yes," Harry replied.

"Alright then. We'll have a sample fetched shortly."

"Excellent." Vassago pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. "Would you like one?" He asked, turning to Harry.

"I'm fourteen."

"So?"

"Why are you here?" Harry hissed.

"I knew there'd be trouble here so I decided to come and help."

"You're not really helping!" Harry replied. "Fudge looks like he's about to have a stroke."

"All the better for our case, then."

"You're going to get me in trouble!"

"Actually, despite my antics, I am saving your bacon. That's why I asked for a Veritaserum. Fudge and Toad-the-Wet-Sprocket up there sure as hell weren't going to ask for one. All the more better to throw doubt on your story."

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap. Vassago smirked, "Yeah, you're fucking welcome."

"Just don't do anything to get us in further trouble."

Just then the door to the courtroom opened, and a man in a courier's jacket entered with a half-dozen flat boxes in his arms. "Pizza delivery for a Mr…. Bub?"

Vassago stood up, "That's me!"

"Who the hell let a Muggle pizza delivery man into the Ministry of Magic?" Fudge asked, running his hands through his thinning hair.

"Servant's entrance, guv'nor," the pizza boy said, shrugging by way of apology.

"I would like to request a five minute recess for lunch," Vassago asked.

"I could use a stiff drink," Fudge muttered.

 **ONE LUNCH BREAK LATER**

An aide appeared after the court returned with a vial of the truth potion and administered it to Harry. After the entire story was recounted, the court held a vote.

"The court has decided that Mr. Potter did commit underage magic in front of his Muggle cousin, but under a life-or-death circumstance. Therefore, we cannot morally condemn him for saving the young Mr. Dursley's life. The Wizengamot finds him innocent of any wrongdoing." Mrs. Bones announced. Fudge looked apoplectic.

"Well that's a relief," Vassago said. "To be perfectly honest I was just winging it." With that, the demon stood up, tossing his cigarette into a dust bin. 'Well, that's my cue to leave. I'll send you my invoice, Harry!" the demon shouted as he trounced out of the courtroom. "Ta!"

As Vassago left the room, Dumbledore barged in past him. "Witness for the defense!" the old wizard shouted.

"The trial is over!" Fudge said, and slammed his gavel down with enough force to break the podium.

"Oh," Dumbledore said. "I'll see myself out, then."


	4. Apologies to the Rolling Stones

**Damn, I am on a roll these last few days. Enjoy it now, because it may not last**

The train to Hogwarts had pulled out of the station with its usual chorus of goodbyes, promises to write home, and warnings to first years to stay away from Potter's crew, as being merely associated with them is more than likely to lower your chances of surviving to the epilogue of Book 7.

Harry was sitting in his compartment with Neville and the Ravenclaw Luna Lovegood. Hermione and Ron were off elsewhere on the train, having been elected prefects. Harry wondered how it was that they had been chosen for such a high honor. Considering the Golden Trio had broken almost every rule on Filch's ever-growing list of rules, it was astonishing that they had been given so much responsibility. Then again, Malfoy was also given the prefect badge, so maybe Snape and McGonnigle are just having a Vietnam-style proxy war with Harry caught in the middle.

The Ravenclaw Lovegood lowered her paper suddenly and smiled at Harry. "You seem troubled, Harry." Harry was not taken aback by this, he had been warned about the Ravenclaw's spacey demeanor and tendency to spout non-sequiturs.

"I'm fine."

"You look as though you have the devil on your back," Luna said.

"He's not with me at the moment," Harry replied.

"Yes, but he's close," Luna replied. "I can see his influence on you."

"What's she talking about?" Neville asked.

"Be careful, Harry," Luna said. "Just because he's helping you doesn't mean it will be any less dangerous."

"How do you know all of this?" Harry asked. But there was no use, she had gone back to her _Quibbler_.

 **LINE BREAK, BRO!**

That night, Harry entered the Great Hall at Hogwarts, with its charmed ceiling displaying a cloudless, starry night, and was put almost immediately at ease. A glance up at the professor's table shattered his sudden calm.

"Who's that woman in the pink dress?" Hermione asked.

"She was at my hearing," Harry whispered. "She works for the ministry."

"Where's Hagrid?"

Hagrid's chair was occupied instead by Grubbly-Plank, the old witch who had filled in for Hagrid during the Buckbeak imbroglio. A chair next to her was also conspicuously empty.

Once all had been seated, the Sorting Hat was brought out. The students leaned in excitedly to listen as it began to sing:

 _Just as every cop is a criminal_

 _And all the sinners saints_

 _As heads is tails_

 _Just call me Lucifer_

 _Cause I'm in need of some restraint_

 _So if you meet me_

 _Have some courtesy_

 _Have some sympathy, and some taste_

 _Use all your well-learned politesse_

 _Or I'll lay your soul to waste_

 _Pleased to meet you_

 _Hope you guessed my name_

 _But what's puzzling you_

 _Is the nature of my game._

The song came to an end, leaving a perplexed audience in his wake. "Huh," Dean Thomas said, "Never pegged the Sorting Hat as a Stones Fan."

Dumbledore rose after the first-years were sorted and signaled for silence. "Well, what an… interesting performance by the Hat, even if he did go off-script a little. Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts, one that I fear may be fraught with danger and peril. I would like to introduce some new professors. Professor Grubbly-Plank will be filling in for Hagrid while he is away on official business. Ms. Dolores Umbridge is from the Ministry of Magic, but has kindly agreed to teach a course of Magical Theory. The course is mandatory for all students," a groan from the student body. "But I believe it will be very… enlightening.

"Finally, I would like to introduce our new Professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts, who has come from the Salem Institute in America.

"So Snape's been passed over again," Fred whispered.

"That explains the look on his face," George added.

"As though he ate a plate of frog spawn," Fred said.

"Unfortunately," Dumbledore continued, "it appears that he has missed the Hogwarts Express. When he does finally arrive, please be sure to give him a warm welcome. Now as usual, our Caretaker Mr. Filch-"

There was a sudden cough from the table. Dumbledore glanced down at Umbridge. "Yes?"

"Might I have a few words, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore seemed taken aback. "If you insist."

Umbridge stood up and walked towards the lectern. "Thank you, Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome-"

She was interrupted by the sound of wings.

The doors to the Great hall burst open with a bang, spewing forth a wave of black birds. Harsh caws filled the room, echoing off the dismayed cries of students and faculty alike. The hoard of crows danced around the room, sweeping over tables, congregating into the center aisle. From the fluttering wings stepped a figure in a black suit and sunglasses. The birds dissipated out of the room, leaving the stranger alone in the aisle.

The figure took a few steps forwards, scanning the room until his gaze fell on Harry. "I'm sorry I'm late," Vassago said. "Glad to see you've all started without me."

"Ah, Professor Vassago," Dumbledore said, striding forwards to greet them. "You gave us all quite a start."

"Yes. I believe a former professor once said, 'Constant vigilance.'" Vassago thought for a moment. "Wait, no that was an escaped criminal impersonating a professor."

"You!" Umbridge said, ashen-faced.

Vassago waved his hands. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

"You were at the trial! Potter's lawyer! Bub!"

"Bub? Never heard of him. Anyway, I'm not a lawyer, I'm a teacher see?" He clapped his hands and summoned a ruler and an apple. "Look at these, teacher things." The demon paused and turned around, putting his hand on his mouth. "I'm sorry, have I interrupted something important?"

"Shit," Harry muttered.

 **JUST FOUND THE HORIZONTAL LINE ON THE DOC MANAGER. THAT'S CONVENIENT!**

* * *

After the resumption of Umbridge's 'enlightening' speech and the conclusion of dinner, the students made their way to their respective dormitories. Harry was about to ascend the stairs when a voice called out to him in a dramatically loud whisper.

"Harry!" Vassago jogged across the hall and waved to Harry. "How about the Toad Lady? 'I'm here to interfere with everything and undermine Dumbledore's authority and Harry Potter's credibility!' I may be paraphrasing a bit, but what a load of utter wind! And how was that entrance? I'll admit, I hadn't meant to miss the train, but what a way to make a first impression!"

"Why?" Harry butted in, unable to listen to anymore of the demon's blathering.

"Why what?"

"Why are you here, _Professor_?" Harry said, emphasizing the last word.

"Well, I got the teaching position," Vassago replied. "It was pretty easy. I just lied a lot, then intercepted a bunch of owls the school board tried to send to the Salem Institute. Compared to manipulating the First World War, that was a cake walk. What did you think of the Hat's song? You should've heard the actual one he wrote. All about stability and being together to weather these dark times. A real snooze-fest."

"You're insane."

"Thank you." Vassago put his arm around Harry and led him up the stairs. "I had to come, Harry. Things are getting dangerous. Voldemort knows something's up, he knows that there are higher powers at play. I fear I may have accelerated events somewhat."

Harry had more questions, as well as some very harsh words, but the demon held up a hand to silence any further questions. "Sorry, Harry, you'll have to wait for class tomorrow to learn more. Wouldn't want to get ahead of the rest of your pupils. As I recall, it's a double period with the Slytherins. It should be quite," He leaned forward and lowered his sunglasses. "Illuminating."

* * *

 **Sympathy for the Devil is the creative property of the Rolling Stones.**


	5. In Which Umbridge Falls Down Twice

"Wow," Ron remarked as the trio entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. "This guy knows how to decorate."

The classroom looked like an abattoir or a taxidermist shop after a bomb had gone off. Books and scrolls piled up to the ceiling mingled with artifacts, animal skulls and stuffed beasts, the likes of which Harry had never seen before. Charts on the walls displayed complex and arcane symbols and lettering. The blazing fire in the fireplace made the room stifling hot, the smell of smoke intermingling with a faint sulphury aroma that Harry could only describe as brimstone.

Professor Vassago was seated at his desk at the head of the class, feet up, asleep, with a lit cigarette dangling precariously from his lips. An empty bottle of whiskey sat on the desk.

"He's drunk!" someone whispered.

"Is this what it's come to?" Malfoy drawled as he took his seat, "I guess Dumbledore's just hiring anyone these days, including lushes."

"Fifty points from Slytherin," Vassago said, lowering his feet and sitting up in his chair.

"For what?" Malfoy asked innocently.

"For being an underhanded little shit," Vassago snapped. Malfoy recoiled from the insult. "Everyone here? Good. Let's get started."

"Ahem." A cough from the doorway. Ms. Umbridge entered the room slowly. "Good morning, am I intruding?"

"Yes," Vassago replied deadpan.

Umbridge either hadn't heard the remark or chose to ignore it. "I hope you don't mind if I sit in for your lesson. I'm quite interested in seeing your teaching method."

Vassago gestured to a pair of chairs in the corner of the room, right under the looming carcass of a stuffed bear. "Have a seat."

Umbridge made her way over to the chairs and took a seat in one of them. There was a cracking sound, and she found herself dumped unceremoniously onto the floor.

Vassago had a thin smile on his face. "Oh, dear, I forgot that chair is broken."

Umbridge picked herself up and huffed, moving over to the other one.

CRACK

"As is the other one."

Umbridge stood back up, dusting herself off, and summoned a chair of her own, her smile never wavering, her eyes shooting daggers at the demon professor.

Vassago smiled back and stood up. "Well then, now we can begin. How many of you are familiar with the origins of magic?" he asked. Several students raised their hands, Hermione among them. "I imagine Professor Binns has taught you a little of it, but considering the fact that sitting through Binns's class should be banned by the Geneva Convention as unnecessary cruelty, I'll just play catch-up."

"Ahem."

Vassago glanced back to the rear of the classroom. "Yes?"

"I was under the impression that you would be using the Ministry-assigned textbooks as the basis of your curriculum."

"Ah, yes," Vassago smiled. "Unfortunately, it seems there was a mixup with the shipping, and in fact all I received was a stock of Playwizard's Summer Swimsuit issue. It's quite a fascinating read, but hardly appropriate for students."

Several students snickered. Umbridge paled slightly. "I'll be sure to notify the Ministry of the mistake."

"Thank you," Vassago turned back to the students. "Now, who is familiar with the Legend of the First Wizard?" A few hands raised. "Ron Weasley?"

"Yes, sir."

"Could you give us a quick summary?"

Ron fiddled with his quill as he spoke, "Well, the uh, Legend goes that there was a great Muggle named Merlin the Clever who was known for escaping from death. So one day the, uh, Devil appears before him and said 'You cannot escape death forever.' So he gives a challenge. Merlin had to climb to the tallest mountain and catch a bolt of lightning in his hands and bring it back to the Devil. If Merlin fails, the Devil will have his soul.

"Merlin asked what he would get in return, and the Devil said he would give him his own staff. So Merlin goes and catches the lightning, because he's clever, yeah? He brings it to the Devil, who refuses to give the Muggle his staff. So Merlin throws the lightning at the Devil, turning him to stone, and steals the staff."

Vassago nodded his head. "Fifty points to Gryffindor. Yes, so Merlin became the first Wizard by stealing magic from the Devil. What can be learned from this story?"

Hermione raised her hand. "Magic is an extension of Dark Power?"

Vassago laughs. "I wouldn't say Dark Power. Unearthly power would be better." Vassago turned and tossed a piece of chalk at the blackboard. The chalk froze inches from the board and began to write notes as Vassago resumed speaking. "To learn to defend yourself against the Dark Arts, first you should understand what the Dark Arts implies. As I had said, magic came from the Devil, but that does not necessarily mean all magic is Dark. That would be like saying that just because a croissant is from France, it is a horrible, cowardly pastry with no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Magic is by nature a neutral force. It is the wizard who casts lightness or darkness upon it.

"The goal of this class will be to instruct you on the history of dark magic. Knowledge is power, and how can you defend yourself against something you know very little about?"

"Ahem."

Vassago stopped and stiffened, turning to stare at Umbridge. "Would you like a throat lozenge, Delores?"

"I'm sorry," Umbridge said, stifling a giggle. "I just don't understand your course objective. Surely you're not suggesting that there is any apparent danger in the near future?"

"Perhaps I am," Vassago said, walking down the aisles. "It is important for these students to be prepared."

"Prepared for what?"

"Voldemort!" Harry said, fed up with the toadish woman's feigned ignorance.

"The Dark Lord has not returned," Umbridge said, expression darkening. She stood up and began to walk to the front of the class. "There are those in this room who believe that the Dark Lord has returned from the dead."

"He has," Harry said flatly.

"That is a lie."

"It is not!" Harry shouted. "I was there, I saw him come back, I fought him."

"Detention, Mr. Potter."

Harry made to stand up, but was stopped by Vassago. "This is not your class, Professor. I give out the punishments."

"Then control your student." Umbridge said.

"Funny enough, the idea never came to my head," Vassago turned to Harry. "Detention tonight at seven, my office. _Comprende?_ "

"Yes, Professor," Harry replied through gritted teeth.

"I'll just see my way out," Umbridge said with a giggle.

* * *

 **So, I've been going back to a lot of earlier chapters and I made some edits. Decided to remove the Percy/Vassago... thing. It just didn't fit right at the moment. I also streamlined the story for continuity errors, inserted some new dialogue, and generally made things a whole lot better (in my humble opinion). For the most part, I'm cranking out first drafts, which may bother some people when they read my story and at first see lots of spelling/grammar errors and WTF? moments. Rest assured, I too have noticed such things, and will work to make a more cohesive, better piece.**

 **How 'bout that Umbridge, though? What a bitch.**


	6. Die Hard VI: Just Die Already

If Harry had been a dinosaur, he would have been a Tyrannosaurus Vexed.

"Ah, Harry, how nice of you to drop in," Vassago said as Harry entered his office.

"You gave me detention, Professor," Harry reminded him.

"And a good thing I did," Vassago said, "That seemed to satisfy Dumbridge ' _a la moment_ '. You need to watch yourself around her, Harry."

"She doesn't frighten me," Harry replied.

"She should, you idiot. Her goal at this school is to stop you and Dumbledore from throwing that 'Voldemort has returned' shit around. She will do anything short of murder to do so."

"Well, then, I'll keep that in mind," Harry replied.

"See that you do. Now, for detention, I have a simple task for you." Vassago reached under his desk and pulled up a cage covered in a black sheet. "I found this little fellow scrambling around my room today," he said as he pulled the sheet off.

"What is that?" Harry asked, stepping away from the desk.

The creature in the box was black as night, with beady yellow eyes and sharp fangs three inches long. It flew against the table on thin bat wings, teeth bared, hissing furiously.

"This," Vassago said, tapping the cage, "is a Hellspawn. Pesky little creatures, vicious and ill-tempered. Must have followed me up here when I arrived."

"And what should we do with it?" Harry asked.

"We need to send it back where it came from," Vassago said.

"How?"

Vassago stood up and walked to the center of the room, "How indeed. There are very few ways to send a creature to and from Hell. The simplest way is by opening a portal. For that, we need several things:" He reached into his jacket pocket. "Candles,"

"Scented candles?" Harry asked, his nose rankling from the heady aroma of vanilla and lavender.

"I borrowed them from Professor Trelawney," Vassago explained. He then pulled out a piece of chalk. "We also need a pentagram. Your basic five-pointed star enclosed by a circle." He quickly drew the shape onto the wood floor. "Now we place the candles at the five points," he said, arranging the candles and lighting them with a silver cigarette lighter.

"And then what?" Harry asked, somewhat interested.

"Next, we need a sacrifice." Vassago walked into the storage cupboard at the back of the classroom and produced another cage, this one containing a live chicken.

"You're going to kill it?" Harry asked, looking at the panicked bird.

"Not me," Vassago said, setting the cage down in the middle of the pentagram. He pulled a flick-knife out of his pocket and tossed it to Harry.

"Why me?" Harry asked, nervously.

"Because I just bought this suit and I'm not getting it dirtied so soon." Vassago said.

"Do I really have to?"

"Yes,"

Harry sighed and opened up the cage, reaching in and crabbing the chicken by the legs. He closed his eyes and slit the bird's throat.

Blood shot everywhere. "God!" Vassago leapt back, "You just nicked it. Try again." Harry stabbed again with the knife, again hitting just a glancing blow. The bird began to screech loudly. "C'mon, Ginny Weasley killed about a dozen chickens in Book 2. Just man up and cut the little bastard's head off!"

Harry swung with the knife, knocking the bird's head clean off. It fell from Harry's grasp and landed on its feet. Fountaining blood, it started to scuttle around the room, bumping into chairs and walls, before suddenly pitching forwards onto the pentagram, stone dead.

"You really suck, you know that?" the demon asked, glancing around at the mess on the floor. "Filch is going to have a fit when he comes in here to clean up later."

"Sorry."

As the blood of the chicken touched the pentagram, the drawing lit up, and a beam of light shot into the ceiling. A fierce wind blew through the classroom, scattering papers through the air.

"What is that?" Harry asked.

"The portal to Hell," Vassago said. He strode over to the desk and, opening the cage, grabbed the struggling Hellspawn by the neck. He turned and drop-kicked the little monster into the beam, where it disintegrated. The pentagram remained lit for several seconds before blinking out.

Vassago clapped his hands and looked over at Harry, grinning. "Not bad for a beginner."

He dismissed Harry, who stumbled in a daze back up to the Gryffindor common room, "Harry!" Hermione shouted as he passed through the portrait. "You've got blood on your shirt!"

"I just killed a chicken," Harry replied.

"Blimey," Ron said, "What kind of professor has students cutting up animals for detention?"

"Snape had me gutting newts last year," Neville Longbottom piped up from one of the lounge chairs by the fireplace.

"Yeah, but they were already dead," Hermione said.

"Not all of them," Neville replied, shuddering at the memory.

Harry sighed and went up to the boys dormitory. Opening his trunk for a pair of clean robes, he found Vassago's book. _Dark Magicka for Funne and Profitte._ He turned the old tome over in his hands.

"Couldn't hurt to learn a thing or two," he said to himself, as he opened the book.

* * *

"I will be offering special tutoring for OWLS starting next week," Vassago announced to the class. "There are very few openings, so it'll be on a first dibs basis. May I see a raise of hands to see who is interested?"

Several students raised their hands. "Okay, now everyone who doesn't have a lightning bolt scar on their head put your hands down." Everyone lowered their hands except for Harry. "Ah! Mr. Potter. Shame, seems as though you're the only one. Alright, then, my office, tonight at eight.

"Anyway, onto the lesson. You're probably wondering why we're assembled here today." They were standing in a circle at the edge of Hogsmeade. Today Vassago had forgone his black suit for a camouflage jumpsuit, combat boots, and a tactical knapsack. "Today's lesson is going to be on evasion tactics. Sometimes the best way to live to see another day is to run like Hell in the opposite direction of danger. Unfortunately, some dangers have a tendency to pursue."

"So we're going to learn to run away." Draco said patronizingly.

"Yes," Vassago picked a wood box off of the ground next to him. "I would now like everyone to place their wands in this box." There were several cries of dismay. "Yeah, I know, 'Booo!'. No one likes a whiner, kids, so put your wands in the damn box. Besides, you can't always depend on those little sticks to get you out of situations."

Grumbling, the students placed their wands in the box. "Good, that's everyone's sticks, then. Now, onto the challenge." Vassago summoned a map showing the school grounds and its surroundings. "You are to get from this location," he pointed to their current position on the map. "To the school limits," he then moved his pointer to the opposite side of the map. "Before the end of the lesson. Speed, of course, is the key here, but there will be another variable in play," Vassago smiled and stepped forward, "Me.

"I will be in pursuit of you all with this," he rummaged in his knapsack and produced an item that, with few exceptions, most of the students were unfamiliar with. "This is a compressed-air powered paintball rifle," he said, pulling back the slide of the weapon. "Anyone shot by my rifle will be 'killed'. Figuratively, of course. Any questions?"

A Slytherin raised a hand. "Does it hurt to get shot with one of those?"

"Yes, it hurts like Hell. Any other questions?" Hermione raised a hand. "Any questions that do not pertain to violation of school conduct?" Hermione put her hand down. "Good. You all start…" he looked down at his wristwatch. "Now."

For a few minutes the students stood there, uncertain as to their next action. Vassago let out a sigh of frustration and promptly shot an unsuspecting Gryffindor in the chest. "That means start running, you little idiots!"

Students took off in all directions as Vassago began to fire randomly into them. Harry, Draco, Hermione and Ron took off towards the tree line, paintballs exploding around their feet.

"He's gone mad!" Ron shouted as she slid for cover behind a falling log.

Hermione covered her head with her hands as shots thudded into the rotting wood above them. "How are we going to get to Hogsmeade if he's got us pinned down?"

"One of us needs to serve as a distraction," Draco said. "Any volunteers?"

* * *

"Where are you children?" Vassago shouted. He had stopped shooting to reload his gun. "Come out and play!"

At that moment Malfoy appeared from behind the log. To be more precise, he was bodily thrown from behind the log by the Golden Trio. "Don't shoot!" he shouted. He took ten paintballs to the chest and fell, swearing.

The Trio made a dash as Vassago was distracted with Draco. "Good tactic," Vassago said to himself as he emptied the rest of his clip into the miserable Slytherin. He then walked over to the moaning student and pulled off his knapsack. "Quit crying, you baby. Worst you'll get is a couple dozen welts."

"I'm telling my father!" Draco cried.

"Of course you will," Vassago replied as he opened the knapsack. "Now that you're 'Dead', per se, you get to help me." He pulled out another paintball gun and tossed it to Draco. "Since you're the primary antagonist, you follow Potter & Co., and I'll track down the rest."

Draco picked up the weapon and looked up at Vassago. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I take great pleasure in chaos," Vassago said with a manic grin, "Now let's get hunting!"

 **MEANWHILE... SOMETHING SOMETHING SOMETHING...**

* * *

Despite his relative lack of physical prowess, Neville Longbottom had made it pretty far. He had grouped up with Lavender Jones, Seamus Finnegan, and Dean Thomas, as well as a few friendly Slytherins.

"We've made good progress," Dean said. They were jogging hurriedly across a vacant pasture.

"I figured the professor will be so busy mopping up stragglers, by the time he's finished we'll be too far away," Neville replied, huffing.

Just then, they heard a loud roar. A flock of birds, startled by the noise took off into the air and circled the group malevolently.

"Was that a dragon?" Neville asked fearfully.

"No," Seamus Finnegan replied, "That was an engine."

A black automobile smashed through a hedgerow a hundred yards behind the four Gryffindors. "Surprise, bitches!" Vassago cackled as he leaned out the window, letting the paintball gun rip. Dean Thomas was cut down within seconds. The rest took off.

Vassago laughed maniacally as he accelerated towards the panicked students. "I love my job."

 **BACK TO THE CHARACTERS WE CARE ABOUT!**

* * *

Meanwhile, the Trio had decided to stick to areas with heavier vegetation and, although they were a ways behind Neville and his unfortunate party, had seen no sign of the crazed demon professor.

"This sort of thing can't be allowed at Hogwarts," Hermione reasoned as they trudged through the brush.

"Why do you think we're doing this off school grounds?" Harry asked.

"I'm going to complain to Dumbledore the minute we get back."

"You think the same guy who kept a Cerberus on school grounds and held a deadly competition for children is going to object to our being hunted for sport?" Harry retorted.

"Fair point," Hermione noted, her expression darkening.

A few minutes later, they emerged from cover and found themselves on the shores of the lake. Hogwarts Castle stood just on the other side.

"We're almost there!" Hermione said.

Ron, who was not used to so much running, was huffing with fatigue. "Could we maybe sit down for a second? I'm knackered."

"We can't stop now, Ron," Harry said. "There's no telling how close Professor Vassago is to us."

"What's with you and the professor, anyway?" Ron asked, staggering along the lakeside. "You two seem awfully cheeky together. Did you two already know each other?"

"It's complicated," Harry replied shortly.

Hermione's brow furrowed, a sign that Harry's quick answer would not suffice. "How so?"

Luckily, a sudden burst of gunfire saved Harry the trouble of lying. Hermione took three paintball shots to the chest and fell back against a rock. "Ow! That really hurt!"

"Gotcha, Mudblood!" Malfoy had emerged from the cover of some bushes. "That's for using me as bait." Harry and Ron made a motion to run, but Draco spotted them. "Don't move Potter," he snarled, leveling his weapon at them. "This one's going to get you right between the eyes.

"Like I really need another scar up there," Harry muttered.

"No!" Ron threw himself at Malfoy, knocking the gun from his hands and dragging him to the ground. The ginger tried to pin down Malfoys arms, but the Slytherin grabbed a rock and smacked it against Ron's head. The Gryffindor fell off of Malfoy, unconscious.

"Bastard!" Harry shouted.

"That what happens when you play hero," Malfoy snickered. He reached for his gun.

"Looking for this?" Malfoy glanced over at Hermione and paled. The bushy-haired Gryffindor had grabbed Malfoy's gun and now held it aimed like a Marksman at Malfoy.

"Granger, be reasonable," Draco began.

"This is for calling me a Mudblood," Hermione said as she pulled the trigger. A burst of yellow paint indicated a direct hit to Draco's forehead. The Slytherin collapsed alongside Ron, stunned.

Harry turned and gaped at Hermione in surprise. She merely lowered the gun and shrugged. "My cousins took me hunting a few times."

"Has anyone ever told you you're brilliant, 'Mione?"

"Yes. I get that quite a lot, actually." Hermione stood up and walked over to the supine Slytherin. "Take Ron and get to the finish line. I'll stay here and watch over Malfoy."

Harry picked Ron up in a fireman's carry and continued on. The weight of the unconscious Weasley on his shoulders, however, severely hampered his progress. He had made it only as far as the Whomping Willow when the sound of a car engine reached his ears. He watched with dread as the black beast emerged from the forest edge and pulled to a stop several feet from him.

Vassago stepped out the car, pausing to light a cigarette. "Nice try, Harry. Is Weasley alright?"

"Malfoy hit him in the face with a rock."

"But that's cheating!"

"Well, Malfoy is a Malfoy."

"Quite. In hindsight, giving a gun to a student was probably a bad idea."

"You're going to get a lot of complaints for this," Harry said.

"Yeah, I'll probably get chewed out," the demon replied, scratching his face.

"You don't seem too concerned."

"I've been chewed out before," Vassago said with a shrug. "One time quite literally."

"Are you going to shoot me?" Harry asked. He was too tired to run. He realized his was still carrying Ron and dropped him like a sack of potatoes.

"Rules are rules," Vassago held out his gun, Scarface-style, with the barrel aimed at Harry's chest. "I can't let you go; I could be accused to favoritism," he said as he stepped closer.

"Stop!" Harry said, raising his hands.

"That's not going to work, Potter," Vassago said with a chuckle as he continued walking towards the Boy-Who-Lived. "Grovel all you want, I'm still obliged to shoot you."

"No, it's not that," Harry said quickly. "You're within its reach!"

"Within whose reach?" Vassago asked.

"The willow!"

The demon froze as he heard a loud groaning from his left. Glancing over, his eyes widened. "Shit."

A branch from the _Salix bellicosus_ caught the demon square in the stomach, catapulting him a hundred feet into the lake. Harry winced as he heard the distant splash. "He is going to be very cross."

In the end, Harry and Ron made it to the finish line, along with a few Gryffindors and Slytherins not important enough to the plot to be named. Meanwhile, Nurse Pomfrey was dismayed to find a line outside of the hospital wing door consisting of students with a variety of nasty bruises and welts.

"He shot the students with a muggle weapon!" Dumbledore seemed only slightly taken aback by the nurse's accusation, but agreed to summon Vassago for a meeting.

"You realize the trouble this is going to cause," the Headmaster said sternly. "I've got owls coming in from parents demanding to know why we're hired a lunatic to use their children as target practice."

"I thought it would teach the kids a valuable lesson in survival."

"Only a handful of them made it to the finish line."

"I was also comprehending their abilities. Seems as though most of the students have little head for tactics, despite this war of yours that is going on."

"I'll be the first to admit that the students need to be prepared."

"Well, with the exception of your Golden Trio, the rest are just cannon fodder, or whatever it is you wizards use in lieu of cannons."

"Be that as it may," Dumbledore replied, "I am expected to make an example of you. I'm afraid I'll have to let you go."

"Let's be reasonable here, Alby," Vassago replied. "How can I make it up to you."

"I'm afraid my mind is settled," the headmaster replied. "Your methods are just not fit for this school. I cannot be persuaded otherwise."

* * *

"Wow, that was…"

"Great?" Vassago fumbled on the bedside table for his cigarettes. "I know."

"I don't know what to say," the old wizard said, suddenly vulnerable as he raised the duvet up to his chest.

"Say I can have my job back."

"You can have your job back?"

Vassago leapt out of bed and searched the floor for his briefs. "Thanks, toots. You were pretty great, too. I knew I could persuade you otherwise." He began to dress himself as he moved towards the door. "Call me if you want a drink sometime. I've gotta go plan next week's schedule. I'm taking the students camping."

Dumbledore waved weakly as the demon slammed the door shut behind him. "The crafty devil," he muttered.

 **WOAH! IMPLIED SEX? ISN'T THIS A CHILDREN'S NOVEL? SHUT UP AND SUSPEND YOUR GODDAMN DISBELIEF! PLEASE LIKE AND SUBSCRIBE OR SOMETHING, I DUNNO.**


	7. Hell Broke Luce (Sorry, Tom Waits)

As September shifted to October and November, the conversation in the halls and chambers of Hogwarts seemed to revolve around Harry Potter and his relationship with Professor Umbridge and Professor Vassago.

Umbridge and Potter had not hit it off. He was a common guest of her office after hours. Umbridge dished out detentions upon the hapless Gryffindor like a gleeful child curb-stomping a cat into mulch. It seemed that Potter was spending his evening hours divided between the Toad's detentions and Professor Vassago's 'tutoring sessions'. Speculation went on as to what happened during these sessions.

* * *

"I bet they're shagging," Malfoy said, seated at the Slytherin table, his cronies arranged around him like an imitation of a Da Vinci masterpiece.

"Potter?" Pansy Parkinson spurted pumpkin juice from her nose. "I'm not sure he's gay."

"How do you know?" Malfoy demanded. There was a chorus of laughter. "I'm telling you, those two are making the centaur up there."

"Centaur?" Goyle asked, perplexed.

"A beast with two backs," Crabbe whispered to his friend.

"Oh," Goyle guffawed. "I don't get it."

* * *

"Certainly not," Ginny Weasley was adamant. "Harry is not gay."

"You hope," Ron said, grinning. His sister punched him hard in the side. "Ow, blimey."

"He's not gay," Lavender Brown stated. "He's crushing hard on Cho Chang."

"But look at the two of them," Seamus Finnegan stated. "The professor and Harry are practically joined at the hip."

"I agree," Hermione said. "Not with that ridiculous theory, but there has to be some strange relationship between the two. You should have seen Harry at the commencement feast. When he saw Professor Vassago make his appearance, he was mortified."

"Yeah, he made the same look dad makes when our Uncle Geralt gets drunk at family dinners and tells his opinions on wizard-goblin marriage," Ron added. Ginny shuddered in agreement.

"Anyway, I've been doing some research on 'Professor' Vassago," Hermione said.

"Any skeletons in his closet?" Seamus asked, waggling his eyebrows.

"I don't know yet," Hermione said. "I've sent several owls to the Salem Institute, but I haven't gotten anything back from them."

"That's peculiar," Lavender said. "I wonder what's holding them up?"

* * *

A shot rang out above Hogwarts. A rather fetching owl, recently in the hire of Hermione Granger, pitched downwards and struck the tiles of the Great Hall roof with a sickening thud. Vassago smiled from his perch outside his classroom window and lowered the hunting rifle. "Fifth one this week. Someone's getting suspicious."

* * *

"So if in the event he's not who he says he is," Ron asked. "then who is he?"

"Dumbledore wouldn't hire him if he wasn't trustworthy," Neville interjected.

"What about Quarrel? Lockhart? Moody?" Ron replied, counting off the treacherous professors. "Who is to say Vassago can't be trusted?"

Hermione wringed her hands in frustration. "I don't know."

"If he isn't a teacher, that would explain his erratic methods," Seamus said.

"His complete disregard for school conduct," Neville chimed in.

"Just look at that ludicrous display he put on yesterday," Ron said pointedly.

* * *

"Oh for God's sake." Hermione said as she and the rest of the Gryffindors entered the Dark Arts classroom. Vassago lay on top of his desk, snoring heavily, about six bottles of firewhiskey around him.

"Good morning, 'Mione," Vassago cracked open and eye and smiled.

"It's three in the afternoon, Professor," Neville said.

"Oh, well, it's morning somewhere. Have a seat, class. I'll be up in a second." He rolled off the desk and onto the floor. "Ow. Okay, I'm feeling a little under the weather this morning, so I'll just hand out a few papers for you all to fill out," he pushed himself to his feet and wobbled unsteadily. "Okay, why is everyone in the room shaking?"

"We're not," Harry muttered.

"Oh, okay. In that case-" he didn't finish. With a start, he pitched forwards and threw up all over Neville, who had taken a seat in the front row. Neville shouted in disgust, arms held out, as the professor's sick ran down his robe.

"Jesus, sorry, sorry," Vassago muttered. "I'll clean that up. Spotify! No, that's not it… Oh, fuck this. I'm sorry, class, I am totally shitfaced right now. We'll just call it a day. Read pages thirty through seventy-six of your textbooks and write a report on the green-toed sloth. See you all tomorrow. " His eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out hard on the floor.

"What the fuck was that?" Neville shouted furiously, still covered in vomit.

* * *

"That was kind of funny," Seamus said.

"I still can't get the smell out of my robes," Neville growled. "I'll have to order a new pair."

"I don't understand why he hasn't been fired," Hermione sighed. "I've been to McGonnigle dozens of times, complaining about the professor's behavior."

* * *

McGonnigle burst through the door to Vassago's classroom in a rage unseen since the time Fred and George had posted old pictures of her youthful days as a model for Playwizard across the common room. "Professor Vassago!"

Vassago peered over the rims of his sunglasses with bloodshot eyes. "Not so loud, Minnie. I'm really hungover."

"Just what in Merlin's beard are you playing at?"

"I'm playing at being a teacher," Vassago replied, taking a laborious drink from a 64-liter mug of coffee, black, no sugar.

"Since you've arrived at this school, you have shown yourself to be nothing but an incompetent drunkard with no regard for the safety and health of our students. I don't know how you've won over Albus, but I will not tolerate it. I'll go to the school board if I have to, and there's nothing you can do to stop me!"

* * *

"How did you do that?"

Vassago rolled over and ran a hand through Minerva's disheveled hair, a lit joint dangling from his lips. "Practice, darling. Years of practice. Also, I did a line of coke in the bathroom, so I'm just running on pure endorphins right now."

Minerva took the cigarette from the demon's lips and gave it a long pull. "I think I love you," she said, exhaling.

"That's my cue to leave."

* * *

"That was a story I'm pretty sure I didn't need to hear," Harry said.

"You're just jealous," Vassago said. He leaned back in his desk chair and lifted his feet up, scattering ungraded papers across the floor.

"Jealous that you slept with my head of house? Nauseous, yes; jealous, no."

"Whatever." Vassago stood up and walked over to a bookshelf. The shelf had a false front, behind the face spines was a fully-stocked bar. "Have you been reading the book I gave you?" Vassago asked as he mixed himself a martini.

"Yes," Harry lied.

"Come now, there's no point in lying to me. I invented the practice," Vassago walked over and sat back down at the desk. "What happened to your hand?"

Harry glanced down at the bandages around his right hand. "Bludger hit me during Quidditch practice this morning."

"There wasn't a Quidditch practice this morning," Vassago stood and walked over to Harry. "What happened to your hand?"

"It's nothing. Just a cut I got."

Harry tried to pull his hand back, but Vassago grabbed it and tore off the bandages. His eyes widened at the letters etched into the boy's skin. _**I Must Not Tell Lies**_. Blood was still trickling from some of the cuts. "Who did this?"

Harry looked down. "Professor Umbridge."

Vassago stood up and stiffened. Harry saw that he was shaking slightly. "Harry, the lesson is over for the night. Go back to your dormitory."

"We haven't even started."

" _Harry_." Harry looked up and caught the demon's gaze. His eyes were glowing yellow. " _Please return to your dormitory_."

Harry stood up and collected his books. "Please don't do anything you'll regret."

Vassago smiled, it looked as though it were painted on. "I don't think I'll regret a thing."

* * *

Dolores Umbridge smiled down at the owl letter she had received from Fudge. High Inquisitor, she thought to herself. How grand. Finally I'll be able to throw my weight around.

There was a knock on her office door. Umbridge glanced up at the clock on the fireplace mantle. It was nearly midnight. "Who is it?" she called out.

The door exploded off of its hinges, disintegrating into splinters. Umbridge hurled herself to the floor and fumbled for her wand. Vassago strode through the ruined doorway, a grin on his face. "Good evening, Umbridge. We need to talk about Harry."

" _Stupefy_!" Umbridge shouted. The spell shot at Vassago, who deflected it with his hand. The spell ricocheted into the mantle, destroying the clock.

" _Expelliarmus_." Vassago muttered, wandless. Umbridge's wand sailed out of her hand and out the open office window. "That'll teach you to greet your guests rudely." Umbridge made to scream, but Vassago was prepared. " _Petrificus Totalus_." Umbridge's limbs snapped together, and she wordlessly fell to the floor, stiff as a board.

Vassago paced across the room and stood over Umbridge. "You have been a naughty girl, Delores." He walked over to her desk and started opening drawers. "I am surprised by your behavior. Using dark magic on a student. That is very, very unprofessional, and that's coming from _moi_." He opened the last drawer and smiled. "Ah, what have we here?"

He pulled out a velvet-lined glass case, inside of which sat several quills. "I haven't seen these in a very long time. Such excellent little devices, aren't they?" Vassago opened the case and pulled out a quill. "Blood quills fetch very high prices on the black market. To destroy them would be such a pity," He bent the quill until it snapped in half, emitting a puff of red smoke and ash. "For you, that is.

"I saw Mr. Potter's marks this evening, Delores. I had to do something to remedy the situation. I could've been discreet, broken in while you were out, but that's really not my style. My approach is a little more improvised." He picked up another quill and snapped it.

Umbridge squeaked in fear, unable to move. Vassago laughed. "It's such a shame you won't remember any of this. I love to see your fear. It makes you seem so weak, so insignificant." He snapped the last quill and threw the remnants back in the box. "The great Dolores Umbridge, brought down to the pits of Hell."

He put the box away and walked over to the paralyzed professor. "You'll get there, I assure you," Vassago produced his wand from his coat pocket. "but not today. _Obliviate."_

* * *

 ** _OH SHIT, SOMEONE'S PISSED!_**

 ** _REMEMBER TO LIKE AND SUBSCRIBE. THOSE THAT DON'T WILL BE SHOT._**

 ** _Updated 4/5/16_**


	8. M Night Shyamalan's 'The Birds'

"Did you hear Umbridge's office had been broken into last night?"

Snape glanced up from his cup of coffee and gave McGonnigle one of his impenetrable frowns. "I had not."

"Filch told me this morning after breakfast," the Head of Gryffindor said with a slight smirk. "Her door had been blasted to smithereens. I'm surprised no one heard anything, what with the racket it would've made."

"What was the Madam Undersecretary's reaction?" Snape inquired coolly.

"She was apoplectic. She went on to Dumbledore about how some personal items had been destroyed."

"No doubt it was the Weasley Twins," Snape replied, and smiled inwardly at McGonnigle's sour expression. "Did she say what was taken?"

"Oddly enough, she refused to specify what said possessions had been stolen. Dumbledore told her that since she wouldn't tell him, he couldn't do anything about it."

"Very wise of her," the two professors jumped as Vassago joined their conversation. He had somehow managed to take a seat at the table in the Teacher's Lounge between them without having been noticed. He was drinking scotch from the bottle.

"What do you mean by that, Mr. Vassago?" Snape asked coldly.

"Nothing at all. Don't worry your little head about it, Mr. Rickman."

"Who?"

"Sorry, Hans, accidentally broke the fourth wall there," Vassago glanced down at his wrist. "Look at that, I'm late for class."

"You aren't wearing a watch," Snape said.

"Good, that means there's no time to lose." Vassago stood up and drained the bottle of scotch in one long guzzle. He burped and tossed the bottle out of the castle window behind his head. The bottle fell three stories and clocked Mrs. Norris on the head, knocking her flat. "See you at lunch."

"It's four in the afternoon."

"Whatever."

When the Dark Arts professor had left, Snape shook his head and growled. "What a loathsome individual. I have no idea why Dumbledore hired him."

"Yes, he is rather pretty, isn't he?" McGonnigle replied, having spaced off. Vassago had slipped a note into her robe pocket as he left. She pulled it out and read it. Fourth Floor corridor broom closet. _Ten minutes. Bring your wand and that bottle of Glenfiddich you keep in your bedside cupboard._

"Minerva?"

"Hm?" she jolted into clarity and frowned at Snape. "I'd better go. I have... papers to grade."

Snape watched as his nemesis Head of House hurried out the door, turning left and heading away from her office. He sighed and turned back to his coffee. "Has everyone here lost their minds?" he asked himself.

"Talking to yourself is a sign of insanity, Hans." Professor Flitwick, who had been sitting on a sofa reading a confiscated copy of _Playwizard_ (he liked the articles, that was it, Thank You Very Much), said quietly.

"Fuck off, you little twerp." Snape stood up and strode out of the lounge, robes billowing behind him.

* * *

Vassago emerged from the cramped closet and straightened his tie. "Great form, as always, Minerva. We keep this up and you'll end up in St. Mungo's from a heart attack." He paused as he heard a cough to his left. He turned and smiled as his eyes met Harry. "Hello, Harry. How're things?"

"The same," Harry replied. Why were you and Minerva in the broom cupboard?" Harry asked.

"Don't act like you don't know." Vassago kicked the door shut behind him and fiddled with his cufflinks. "What can I do you for, my boy."

"I need to speak with you," Harry said flatly.

"Step into my office, then," He strode across the hall to the opposite door, which happened to lead to his classroom. He walked over to his desk and pulled a cigarette out from a box mean for chalk. "So, what's wrong? And don't say 'Umbridge', because I took care of that."

"No, Professor, it's about something else," Harry began, "something I'd meant to tell you last night, before you threw me out."

"So, spit it out," the demon replied, lighting his cigarette.

Harry sat down in one of the desk and fidgeted slightly. "Well, it all began after I started to read the book you gave me…"

* * *

Harry was out walking. He needed the fresh air. The information in that book had been frustrating him. What was the point of Vassago giving him a book he couldn't read? The whole thing was written in some strange language, similar to German, but with more umlauts and less punctuation. All he could understand were the pictures, and those had unnerved him to great extent. He threw the book into his trunk and headed outside.

He stopped by the lake and looked out at the placid waters. The squid was nowhere to be seen, doubtless hibernating, or whatever it was squid did when the water got too cold. He bent down to pick up a pebble when he noticed them.

He almost shouted in horror. Crows. They were everywhere. They swarmed the barren tree branches like black leaves, watching Harry with interest. They were everywhere.

"Potter!" Harry turned and felt his heart sink further as Draco Malfoy and his two goons Crabbe and Goyle approached him, wands bared. Malfoy was still covered in bruises from Vassago's evasion lesson the previous week.

"I've been looking everywhere for that Mudblood Granger, hoping to pay her back in kind for shooting me. You'll do just fine."

"Birds," Harry said.

"Birds?" Malfoy replied.

"Birds?" Crabbe and Goyle parroted.

'Birds." Harry pointed up at the trees.

Malfoy glanced up and immediately turned white. "Birds!" he gasped.

"Birds?" Crabbe said.

"Birds?" Goyle repeated, brow furrowed as though he were attempting to decipher the meaning of the word.

"Birds," Malfoy said in confirmation. He pointed upwards. Crabbe and Goyle noticed as well and froze, slack-jawed in shock.

"Birds!" Crabbe squeaked.

"Birds," Goyle breathed.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Harry muttered.

"What's happening Potter?" Malfoy asked, watching the birds with mounting terror in his eyes. "They're looking at me."

"Don't move," Harry said, standing stock still. He glanced up to see for himself. The crows were no longer staring at him, but had directed their attention to the Slytherin, their eyes showing no curiosity, but narrowed in ire, consternation, threat.

"What'll they do?" Malfoy asked.

Harry shrugged, "Attack?"

At this, the crows took off, descending upon the Slytherins en masse. The trio's cries were drowned out by the cries of the black birds.

Harry watched in absolute horror. "Stop!" All at once, the crows stopped and turned their heads to look at the black-haired boy. All at once, they cocked their heads in confusion.

"Go, scat!" Harry said.

Of course, Harry had meant 'scat' as in 'shoo'. The birds, however, interpreted it differently and took off. Just as Malfoy lowered his hands from his face, the birds took a synchronized shit all over him and his minions.

At this, Harry couldn't control himself. He burst out laughing. Malfoy began to scream, wiping the white goop from his clothing. He had chosen the wrong day to wear black. He fixed his eyes on Harry. "You are dead! Potter!" he growled.

Harry glanced back at the birds, who had returned to their roosting in the trees. Five hundred beady black eyes came to rest on Draco. The Slytherin took one look at them and took off like a track star, not stopping until he vanished into the castle. Crabbe and Goyle followed, wiping shit and feathers from their persons as they ran like startled sheep for sanctuary.

Harry watched them as they disappeared from sight, perplexed from what had just happened. One of the crows landed on his shoulder and cawed once. Harry glanced over at it and froze. The bird looked at him expectantly. Harry swiped it off his shoulders with a grunt of horror and followed the Slytherins in their flight.

* * *

Vassago had sat motionless as Harry recounted the story. The cigarette in his lips had burned to the filter.

"Most extraordinary," Vassago said finally.

 **WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? ENOUGH WITH THE QUESTIONS! ALL YOU DO IS ASK AND ASK AND ASK FOR MORE AND MORE! YOU'RE GARBAGE! YOU'RE ALL GARBAGE! PLEASE FAVE AND FOLLOW AND LEAVE A REVIEW! I DESPISE YOU ALL!**


	9. Illumination, Intervention, Alliteration

**THANKS FOR ALL THE FAVS AND COMMENTS. I GOT ONE RATHER SARCASTIC COMMENT FROM SOMEONE WHO WILL NOT BE NAMED. HELLO, YOU DICK! THANKS FOR YOU'RE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM! FUCK YOU!**

* * *

"Well, what does it mean?"

Vassago stood from his desk and walked around it to stand before Harry. "It means, that you're finally picking up my influence."

"Influence?" Harry replied, confused.

"When a human sells his soul to the devil, as you did back in that graveyard, you get certain… perks."

"What kind of perks?" Harry asked.

"I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise," Vassago grinned devilishly. "Let's just say you'll be like a chip off the ole' block, so to speak."

"I'll be a… demon?" Harry looked a little green in the face."

"Not technically. You're certainly not immortal, and don't even think of testing it out. You will, however, acquire some pretty freaky skills."

"Did the book do this?" Harry asked.

"The book helped," Vassago replied, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "I wish I'd been there to see it. It's like learning how to ride a bicycle, Harry, a great moment that your parents insist on videotaping but your dad forgets to put any film in the camera so in the end it was pointless." Vassago paused, "I think I went a bit off track there."

"I never learned to ride a bike," the boy replied darkly.

"Oh, right, abusive relatives, very little love. That reminds me, I'll have to visit the Dursleys at some point, have a polite discussion with them."

"No!" Harry stood up. "I won't have you pulling on them what you pulled with Umbridge."

Vassago laughed and raised a dismissive hand. "I'm only yanking your crank. Anyway, you should probably go, I've got some second-years coming in about five minutes, and boy are the little ones annoying. I'll have to get extra drunk for them. In the meantime, continue reading the book I gave you."

"But I can't understand the book," Harry complained.

"Try again. It's like Ulysses, you need to slog through it for the payoff. Plus, now that you've absorbed some of its knowledge, it should be a little easier to comprehend."

* * *

"Today, we will discuss Dark Wizards," Vassago addressed the fifth year Gryffindor/Slytherin class. He was slouching against the blackboard, charmed chalk scribbling furiously beside his head. "Also, Professor Umbridge will be in class today, as part of her duties as High Inquisitor. Please give her the respect I suspect she'll expect." Vassago looked over at Umbridge, who was scribbling on a piece of parchment. She paused and glanced up, fixing the demon with a disarmingly saccharine smile.

"Today, we will be discussing a wizard who most of you are probably unfamiliar with. He turned to the class and waved his hand, halting the chalk behind him. Harry stifled a gasp as he read the name on the board.

 **TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE**

"Tom Riddle, Jr. was born in 1928. His mother, Merope Gaunt was of the illustrious Gaunt family, said to be descended from Salazar Slytherin himself. Of course, due to Pureblood inbreeding which resulted in mental instability, by Merope's time the Gaunt family had fallen quite low, living in squalor and ignominy in the muggle village of Little Hangleton. Merope had fallen in love with a muggle named Tom Riddle, and used a love potion to win his heart. However, was with most attempts at artificial romance, the potion wore off, and Riddle abandoned her and her unborn child.

"Abandoned and alone, Merope Gaunt gave birth in a London orphanage to a boy, whom she named Tom. She died minutes later. Young Tom spent his formative years in the orphanage. He was a quiet child, who was often picked on by other boys. However, behind his passiveness lay a streak for vengeance, and he often took great pleasure in exacting it on these transgressors.

"It was in 1939 that young Tom received his letter to Hogwarts. He was sorted into Slytherin, where he excelled as a student, becoming a prefect and, eventually, Head Boy in 1945. Would anyone care to explain the significance of this year?" Vassago glanced around the room. "Harry, perhaps you know the answer."

"It was the year the Chamber of Secrets was first opened," Harry replied quietly.

"Correct. Of course, many of you probably only knew the Chamber had been opened during your second year. Of course, as Professor Binns told you (or McGonagall, if you watched the films), the Chamber can only be opened by the Heir of Slytherin. As I have noted, the Heir appeared to be young Tom Riddle. However, Riddle was clever enough to have a scapegoat, a young half-giant Gryffindor and his poisonous pet spider."

There was a gasp from the classroom as the students connected the dots. Vassago grinned and continued. "So, Riddle graduated from Hogwarts later that year. He gets a job a Borgin and Burkes, a lovely little antique shop in Knockturn Alley. Have you been there? I recommend it. So many curious items, all of which are guaranteed to kill you in horribly nasty ways. I digress.

"So, for several years, young Tom is a sales clerk. His life is uneventful, to the casual investigator. No misbehavior, no crimes committed, no traffic violations. Several events of note, however, reveal a darker truth.

"Firstly, in 1943, the murder of a muggle family in the village of Little Hangleton. A wealthy landowner, Tom Riddle, Sr. and his parents are murdered. The crime is pinned on Morfin Gaunt, the brother of Merope Gaunt, for which he is sentenced to Azkaban.

"Second, in 1946, the death of Hepzibah Smith, a witch of high regard, a collector of magical antiquities, and a direct descendant of Helga Hufflepuff. Madame Smith is accidentally poisoned by her aged House-elf several days after approaching Borgin and Burkes to sell some of her collection. After the whole fuss over her death is over and done with, it is discovered that two items from her collection are missing: a cup believed to belong to Helga Hufflepuff, and a locket that belonged to the Gaunt family and, before that, Salazar Slytherin.

"After that, Riddle vanishes, quitting his job in Knockturn Alley and heading to Albania to do some 'soul-searching'. When he returns, he begins to preach the age-old belief of pureblood purity."

"Ironic coming from a half-blood," Malfoy said aloud, smiling smugly.

"You are correct, Malfoy. It is ironic that this half-blood is preaching such anti-muggle scripture. However, by this time, Mr. Riddle has stopped going by his given name. He has acquired a pseudonym and, with it, a title."

Vassago turned to the board and waved his wand at Riddle's name in chalk. The letters began to rearrange themselves, to the shock and horror of the students. Even Umbridge was surprised, snapping the nib of her quill as she read the anagram.

 **I AM LORD VOLDEMORT**

Vassago turned to look at the class and grinned wickedly. "Surprise, Riddle is the Dark Lord. Of course, we all know what happens next. Muggle killings, war between the Dark and Light, all culminating in a backfired spell that obliterated Voldemort's body. No one quite knows how the Dark Lord was defeated by a toddler, but there you have it, the Wizarding World hardly ever makes much sense.

"Your assignment for tonight is two feet of parchment evaluating Lord Voldemort's psychological profile and tactics..." The dreaded cough silenced Vassago. He glared at the toad lady with barely controlled annoyance. "Yes, Madame High Inquisitor?"

"Pardon me for intruding, but I wonder why you feel the need to teach these children about this horrible character from Wizarding history," the pink-clad woman said with a smile.

"By studying the acts of this… man," Vassago paused, as though the noun he had used to define Voldemort had been a poor choice, "the students can gain insight into how to combat similar forces of darkness."

Umbridge giggled. It was not a pretty sound. "I hardly see the need for the students to be ready for war," Umbridge replied.

"There is danger out there, Madame," Vassago replied. "Even if you are too blind to see it."

"I think not, Professor Vassago," Umbridge replied. "The Wizarding World is the safest it has been in decades."

"And yet," Vassago said, scratching his chin, "in the last five years, a group of students miraculously prevented the heist of the Philosopher's Stone, a basilisk paralyzed a half-dozen children, an alleged murderer escaped Ministry imprisonment, and a young man was killed in a dangerous school tournament under mysterious circumstances. Not to mention the atrocities committed at the Quidditch World Cup and the disappearance of several respected wizards and witches,"

"You are looking for a pattern that does not exist," Umbridge replied contemptuously. "Even so, perhaps we should be placing responsibility for these acts not on a dead dark wizard, but on the gaffes of your senile Headmaster and his cronies."

"Dumbledore is not senile!" Harry could not longer sit on the sidelines.

"He is a little senile," Vassago quietly conceded.

"Detention, Potter."

"Oh, I'm so terrified," Potter spat angrily. "What's going to happen now that your little quills are gone? Are you going to make me write lines?"

"You'll find, Mr. Potter, that there are other ways to punish liars."

"So what if he's a liar?" Vassago asked, quietly.

Umbridge was caught off guard by the sudden calm question. "He must be punished."

"Why? What harm is he doing by lying? How can a fifteen-year-old child pose such a threat to the Ministry of Magic that all steps are taken to silence him and defame his character?"

"His lies are poisoning the minds of the vulnerable!" Umbridge growled, all her syrupy sweetness gone in a flash.

Vassago stood up and walked towards Umbridge, smiling menacingly. "Yes, because you don't want the populace to start asking questions, do you? You must fear those questions, the kind that burrow into your mind, arise doubt and uncertainty, foster terror. Is the Ministry afraid, Dolores?"

A loud ring broke the tension. Vassago broke Umbridge's gaze and glanced up at the clock over the classroom door. "Ah, look at that, class is over. Come on, children, hurry to potions, or Snape will have my balls for breakfast."

The students filed out of the classroom. Potter was the last to leave. He turned to stare at Vassago. The professor smiled at Harry. "Hurry along now, Potter. Snape beckons."

When the room was empty, Vassago turned to Umbridge, whose face matched the color of her robes. "If you'll excuse me, I have to prepare for my next class."

Umbridge softened slightly and smiled. "By all means, professor." She moved quietly towards the door. In the threshold, she paused and turned around. "Oh dear, I almost forgot. I was trying to send an owl to my good friend, Professor Merriwether at Salem Institute, but I seem to have forgotten his address. Do you happen to know it?"

Vassago paused and shook his head. "I do not believe there is a Professor Merriwether teaching at Salem."

Umbridge stiffened and scowled. "Lucky guess," she snarled, before turning on her cankled heel and disappearing down the corridor.

* * *

Harry sat alone in the Room of Requirement, Vassago's book open at his lap. He had been reading more of it since the afternoon by the lakeside. True to the demon's words, the text had become intelligible to him somehow. It made Harry uneasy, as though he were back in second year, tangling with Riddle's diary. That book had wormed its way into Harry and Ginny's minds, and this book seemed no different. If he didn't inexplicably trust Vassago, he'd have destroyed the damned thing weeks ago.

He was bent over the stone floor, pen in hand, brow furrowed in concentration. Below him was a set or writing, arranged in a circle. The writing was a mishmash of lost tongues and arcane symbols, words whose meanings had been lost to time, and with good reason.

He finished the circle and consulted the book for the next step. Nervously, he placed his hands in the circle and recited the incantation.

" _Xiphos Afysikos_."

The circle lit up, as it had in Vassago's classroom the night they had banished the imp. Soon, the writing disappeared as an image began to form in the air above. The pommel formed first, black metal, with a red stone set in it. Then the blade, a foot long, double-edged, curved slightly like a cavalry saber. The light faded, and Harry grabbed the blade from midair as it began to fall from gravity's pull.

He held the blade in his hands. Experimentally, he gave the blade a swing. A white light marked the infernal blade's arc in the air. He twirled it around, his hand guided by an unknown talent.

"Wicked," he breathed as the blade danced in his grip. He had the Room of Requirement summon some straw dummies for practice. The blade cut through them as though they were incorporeal, severing faceless heads from bodies, hacking limbs from lifeless torsos. An hour later, he was awash in sweat, and the floor of the room was strewn with dismembered straw foes.

He glanced down at his old muggle watch and noted that it was nearly midnight. Sighing, he banished the sword and gathered his belongings before donning his invisibility cloak and slipping through the halls to Gryffindor Tower.

He smiled as he passed through the portrait, only to find Hermione and Ron seated on the sofa by the fireplace.

"An ambush," Harry said.

"Where have you been, mate?" Ron asked.

"I was working out," Harry replied, warily taking a seat across from his two friends. "Did you two wait up for me?"

"Kind of," Hermione said. "Would you like some tea?" There were three steaming cups on a plate between Ron and Hermione, as well as some chocolate biscuits.

Harry shook his head. "What's this about?"

"Harry, we wanted to talk to you about Professor Vassago," Hermione said. She produced a letter from her robe pocket. "I sent several owls to the Salem Academy in America, asking them about Professor Vassago's tenure there. None of them were received."

"The transatlantic journey is difficult for an owl," Harry replied quickly.

"Harry, I think the owls were being intercepted," Hermione continued. "So I sent a letter by muggle post. That letter got through, and I got a reply."

"Professor Vassago lied," Ron cut in. "He never taught there. He's a fraud."

Harry was silent, attempting to mirror the demon's unconcerned stare. "Who else knows about this?" he asked.

"No one, yet," Hermione said, the stress on the last word implying that by noon tomorrow, it would be a different story.

"May I see the letter?" Hermione handed him the letter, which he casually tossed into the fire. The flames enveloped it as Ron and Hermione stared, mouths agape in shock.

"Harry, what the hell are you playing at?" Ron finally barked.

"Guys, I want you to drop this. Don't keep prying into the professor's past, and don't tell anyone about what you've learnt."

"Harry, the man could be dangerous!" Ron shouted. "He is dangerous!"

"Not to mention somewhat incompetent," Hermione added.

"He could be one of Voldemort's henchmen, like Moony and Quirrel!"

"He isn't," Harry replied bluntly. "Listen, there are things I can't tell you about him, but trust me when I say that Vassago is not here to do us harm."

"Harry, with due respect, we're worried about the amount of time you are spending with him," Hermione said.

"That is not your problem," Harry said. "Thanks for having so much concern for my well being; it almost makes up for your indifference over the summer. For now, though, Hermione, I would appreciate it if you and Ron would mind your own fucking business and keep your mouths shut about the professor." He stood up and gathered his bag. "And on second thought, I would like a cup of tea, and two of those biscuits." He helped himself, ignoring his friend's outraged expressions. "Glad we had this chat. Good night."

Hermione and Ron watched as Harry trudged across the room and up the staircase to the Boys' Dormitory. "What the hell was that?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," Hermione said. "But I'm worried about him."

* * *

 **THINGS ARE GETTING TENSE! WILL RON AND HERMIONE FUCKING DROP IT? WILL UMBRIDGE GET THE LAST LAUGH? WILL ANYTHING OF INTEREST HAPPEN AT ALL? STAY TUNED!**


	10. The One Where Vassago Gets Sacked

The time between Chapter 9 and Christmas break proceeded calmly enough. **Well, with some exceptions, of course. I don't need to tell you what the hell happened. You should have read the fucking book. Not my fault if you you're not up to snuff.**

 **Where was I?**

 **Damn, lost my train of thought. Look what you've done. I'll have to start again! Damn readers and their unending demand for my blood to be spilled. I don't have to write this, you know. I could be watching Netflix. Or doing schoolwork. God knows I don't have enough of that shit to do. I had to build a freaking 1"-1' scale model of a Japanese tea house for my studio, and that was not a cake walk. The thing was huge! Took a week and cost me a small fortune in plexiglass and basswood. Plus I spilled tea all over my laptop, so it's at IT, and they told me I should have it back by the end of the semester, but who believes that? You ever dealt with IT? They take so long to do anything and act like it's such a great inconvenience to them that you've cocked up your PC when they're not the ones unable to access the 10gb of pornography on their hard drive. That shit was well-curated. It'll take me weeks to find them again. I'll be honest with you, there's a lot of things on that computer that are frankly horrifying. Don't judge me! We've all been to the Dark Side of the Web. A man has urges, even if they do border on the obscene and illegal.**

 **Anyways…**

Harry was having a pretty rubbish time at Hogwarts. Sure, there was Dumbledore's Army to keep him occupied, but between Umbridge's ever-growing domination of the school, his lifetime ban from Quidditch, the malicious Occlumency lessons with Snape, and his strange visions of Voldemort, he felt like a toad in a blender.

He had fallen rather heavily for the Ravenclaw Cho Chang, but as Vassago pointed out, she had too much baggage for a healthy relationship. Seeing your boyfriend die in gruesome circumstances isn't good for the mind.

Speak of the devil, Vassago's tutoring sessions had tapered off, as Harry spent more time practicing Dark Magic alone in the Room of Requirement. He was loathe to admit it, but he was glad to have the demon at Hogwarts. He didn't care if his friends thought he'd lost his mind. He didn't care what they thought of the Vassago. The 'fraud' had done more to help him than anyone else at the damned school.

Of course, it couldn't last. He just didn't think it would happen so soon.

Snape was really giving him hell. "Concentrate, Potter. You're defenses are weak. Not that I expected anything different, of course, but we've been doing this for weeks now and it's not very fun for me anymore."

"I'm sorry you're having such a rough time," Harry said, grimacing as his mind was probed mercilessly by the Potions professor. "Believe me, it pains me to see you so discomforted."

"Ten points from Gryffindor for cheek," Snape replied automatically. He broke the Legilimens on the boy and rubbed his head. "I'll be back in a moment. I need an aspirin from Madame Pomfrey."

Harry may have been knocked to the floor in a quivering heap, but he couldn't help himself. "Don't worry about me, I'm fine."

Snape strode out of the room, his robes billowing behind him.

" _How does he do that with his robes?_ " a voice asked from nowhere. Harry sat up in surprise and looked around. A second later Vassago appeared beside him, cradling a lustrous cloak in his arm. "There's no wind down here, so how do they billow like that?"

"Is that my Invisibility Cloak?" Harry asked, staring at the garment in the demon's hand.

"No."

"My name is on the inside collar. How did you get that?"

"I stole it from your room," Vassago replied. He held up a hand to stop Harry's protests. "Don't worry, I steal from everyone."

At that moment, in another part of the castle, Argus Filch opened his liquor cabinet and swore. "Where the bloody hell's all my brandy?"

"What am I doing wrong?" Harry asked, rubbing his head gingerly.

"Everything," Vassago said, pulling small bottle of brandy from his coat pocket and uncorking it. "Don't beat yourself up about it, though. It's Snape's teaching to blame. He's giving you absolutely no proper advice or guidance whatsoever. If I didn't know better, I'd think he has a personal vendetta against you."

"Brilliant insight," Harry growled. He suddenly realized something, "Snape hasn't seemed to have discovered anything in my mind about our… relationship."

The demon chuckled. "That's my doing. I keep obliviating him after every lesson. Probably explains why he's so crabby all the time. Also explains his recent lapses in memory."

* * *

Meanwhile, Snape was standing outside of the Hospital Wing doors, suddenly conscious that he had somehow forgotten how doorknobs worked.

"Get it together, Severus," he muttered as he examined the knobs carefully.

* * *

Vassago patted Harry on the shoulder. "Look, kiddo, you keep telling yourself you can't keep Snape out of your mind. We all know that's bullshit. If you can do half the things we've been studying together, you can easily do this. You just need the confidence."

"That sounds like some cliched sports movie pep talk."

"Of course it is. But cliches work. If they didn't, why would we see them in story after story after story?"

"So you're saying the power of belief and positivity will guide me to victory?" Harry asked, unconvinced.

"I'm saying quit acting like an angsty little bitch, grow a pair and act like the fucking Boy-Who-Lived for once." Footsteps sounded out in the hallway. "Remember what I said and remind Snape that no one fucks with Harry Potter." With that, the demon donned the Invisibility cloak and disappeared in a flourish of green screen technological mumbo-jumbo.

Moments later, Snape swept into the classroom. "Ok, we've got ten minutes until I'm off duty, so let's take this from the top. Try not to fail, I know it's asking too much."

"I'll try my best," Harry replied.

"That's not very reassuring," Snape muttered. "Very well, _Legilimens_."

"Are you alright, professor?"

Snape groggily came to on the floor of the potions classroom, blood streaming from his broken nose. "Bloody hell," he gasped. "Potter! What did you do?"

"I raised my defenses, just as we practiced," Harry replied smugly.

"I feel like I ran into a brick wall." Snape sat up and fished in his robe pocket for a handkerchief to staunch the blood.

"I learned from the best," Harry said, smiling thinly.

"I think I need a lie down," Snape muttered.

"Probably a bad idea if you have a concussion. I'll walk you to the infirmary."

As Harry led a dazed Professor Snape up the dungeon stairs, the gloomy silence was broken by an unearthly shriek. "What was that?" Snape said, adding hearing damage to his running list of maladies.

"It sounded like Professor Trelawney," Harry replied. He began to run, half-dragging the protesting potion master along with him.

They found the source of the commotion in the great hall, crying atop a collection of luggage. Professor Umbridge surveyed the scene with a look comparable to a Nazi officer on Passover. "As I was saying before the theatrics began, you are hereby relieved of your position as Divination Professor."

"Sixteen years!" Trelawney wailed miserably. "Sixteen years I've taught at this school. You can't simply throw me out."

"I think you'll find I can," Umbridge replied. "Don't think for a moment that I enjoy seeing you fired. I do, but that's neither here nor there. Mr. Filch will be here shortly to escort you off the premises, preferably with bodily force."

"Well, well, well," Vassago emerged from the gathering crowd and wandered over to stand next to Trelawney. "What do we have here? Preying on the feeble-minded, Delores? Shocking. Does your depravity have no bounds?"

"Feeble-minded?" Trelawney said, breaking with the theatrics long enough to look offended.

Umbridge smiled. It was not a pretty sight. "Ah, Professor Vassago. You've arrived just in time."

"In time for what?" Vassago asked, stepping across the hall towards the pink monstrosity. "An ugly sweater contest? To be honest, I'm rather underdressed for the occasion."

"Actually, I wanted to discuss the terms of your dismissal."

"I think you'll find that difficult. I'm not easily dismissed. I have an issue with authority."

"Could you come closer?" Umbridge asked. "I'm rather deaf, and I can't hear you." Vassago took a few steps closer. "Just a couple more," Umbridge requested. "And a little to the left."

Vassago complied. Only when he glanced down for a moment did he see that he had been tricked. "Oh, fuck."

Vassago had stepped into a ring of white power poured onto the floor in a perfect concentric circle.

"I was worried you wouldn't fall for it," Umbridge said, grinning to herself. "Of course, observation has proved that you aren't as clever as you appear to be."

She turned to the student body and puffed herself up. "Boys and girls, I believe there is something you should know about your beloved Professor Vassago."

"I'm not sure 'beloved' is the term I'd have used," Ron Weasley said, a tad too loudly.

"This man is not who he appears to be." Umbridge turned back to Vassago. "Anything you would like to confess to?"

"I once ripped the tag off a mattress," Vassago replied in a deadpan tone, eyes narrowed at the dumpy woman.

"It seems that Mr. Vassago is an intruder, a fraud. To be precise, he is an unearthly creature, sent to do harm on you children. Is this correct, demon?"

The crowd gasped in horror. A hundred eyes turned to look at Vassago, who appeared unfazed. "I plead the fifth."

"He has been sent here to corrupt you, to fill your minds with subversive thought."

"Yeah, I was going to have you stand on your desks and recite Transcendentalist poetry," Vassago muttered.

"Fortunately, the Ministry has sent several wizards from the Department of Mysteries to remove him from this earthly realm." Several wizards in pointy cloaks emerged from the crowd and gathered around the demon. "You shall be banished back to Hell, demon. Any final words?"

Vassago turned around to look at the students. His eyes locked on Harry's and he smiled wanly. "Well, it's a fair cop. I am a demon, sent to corrupt your minds. It's a shame I was caught before tomorrow evening's lesson: we'd have gone parading through the Forbidden Forest naked, chanting in dead tongues to raise the spirits of the damned. It would've been great fun, especially the extra-credit orgy afterwards. Alas, I have been exposed. Of course, I don't plan to leave on anyone's accord but my own."

The demon turned back to Umbridge. "Nice trick with the salt circle. Too bad it doesn't work. A myth. I'm in no way trapped. As for these Klansmen you've dispatched," he waved his hand, and the cloaked wizards dropped to the floor, unconscious. "they should've known better. Of course, you don't choose your minions for their wit; you choose them for their willingness to obey blindly.

"So, as I was saying, you can't make me leave. However, I find very little reason to stick around," he turned to give a final glance at Harry and smiled. "Don't worry, though. I'll always be here, watching, waiting.

"Alright, this showboating is getting rather old. I'm out."

There was a blinding flash of light, and when everyone's vision cleared, the salt circle was empty.


	11. Revenge of the Shit

**Miss me? Any characters that belong to J.K. Rowling belong to J.K. Rowling.**

The next day, Harry was in the table at the Great Hall, in the midst of a pretty severe sulk, when he was joined by two people he didn't necessarily want to talk to.

"Harry, you skipped all your classes today," Hermione said testily as she took a seat next to the Boy-Who-Whinged.

"You missed a great potions class," Ron added, "Snape spent the first twenty minutes trying to remember how chairs worked. Dumbledore recommended he take some time off."

Hermione shot Ron a glare before turning back to Harry. "Harry, why are you so upset? Is it because of Vassago? You can't beat yourself up for not believing him. He had us all fooled."

"I knew, Hermione," Harry said suddenly.

"What?" Ron and Hermione replied, their shocked exclamations forming almost a perfect harmony.

"You knew what he was and didn't think to tell anyone?" Hermione asked? "Are you mental?"

"Perfectly sane, thank you very much," Harry replied. "Yes, I knew he was a demon. Yes, I didn't tell anyone else about it."

"But, why?" Ron asked.

"Because he was the closest thing to a mentor and friend I've ever met," Harry said, calmly, "He's tried to help me more than Dumbledore or anyone else in this bloody school!"

Hermione grabbed Harry by the shirt sleeve and pulled him out of the Great Hall and into the corridor. "What the fuck are you doing?" Harry asked, sputtering.

"I'm taking you to the Hospital Wing," Hermione replied. "You've obviously been brainwashed or Imperiused by that lunatic demon."

"What!"

"Harry, it's probably best if you went along with it," Ron said, having jogged to catch up to the two.

Harry pulled his arm out of the girl's grip and stood staring at them both. "Both of you quit it! I'm not under mind control or severely concussed."

"Harry, why would a demon of all creatures want to be helping you? He's a demon; that's as dark as Dark Magic can get!"

"I asked him for help!" Harry shouted.

His two friends looked at him in horror. "Oh, Harry…" Hermione began.

Harry waved a hand dismissively. "No. Don't give me that. Both of you just shut up and listen. Last summer, I fought Voldemort in that graveyard, and I almost lost. Vassago saved me, and he promised to give me the help and power needed to kill Voldemort."

"And you believed him?" Ron asked.

"Why wouldn't I?" Harry asked, eyes blazing. "Vassago gave me a fucking chance! What would you do in a situation like that?"

"I wouldn't have sold my bloody soul to him or some rot like that!" Ron snapped. He gasped as Harry flinched slightly. "You didn't?"

Harry sighed, "It was the only way I could have escaped that fight with my life."

"But he'll take your soul!" Hermione replied, her voice almost hysterical. "You'll die!"

"I almost died in that graveyard, Hermione. I almost died trying to stop Voldemort from stealing the Philosopher's Stone. I almost died in the Chamber of Secrets. Every single year I've almost gotten myself killed, only to survive by pure bloody luck or Dumbledore's 'Power of Love' bullshit. How much longer can I last? If I can ensure I defeat Voldemort, I'll take it, Hermione, even if I have to give my soul away to do so."

Hermione had tears in her eyes. "You're not a martyr, Harry."

"I sure as hell feel like one," Harry replied before spinning on his heel and ascending the staircase, leaving his friends standing dumbstruck in his wake.

 **Holy shit that got real angsty there! Yes, it's a 'Very Special Episode'.**

Well, after news of Vassago's sacking reached the Ministry of Magic, things went to shit _reaaaal_ quick.

"In light of this unprecedented demonic infiltration of Hogwarts," Cornelius Fudge's voice intoned over Dean Thomas's radio, around which the Gryffindor's sat listening in horror. "The Board of Governors have passed a vote of no confidence in Albus Dumbledore. As a result, effective immediately, Headmaster Dumbledore shall be removed from his post and replaced by Ministry of Magic Undersecretary and Hogwarts High Inquisitor Dolores Umbridge. A team of aurors will be dispatched to the school to investigate the staff and student body of any further demonic interference."

Harry picked up the radio and, ignoring his fellow Gryffindor's cries of dismay, tossed it out the dormitory window.

"Oi! You're paying for that!" the Gryffindor shouted angrily.

"Will I?" Harry replied calmly, sitting back down on his bed and cracking open Vassago's old book.

Dean opened his mouth to object, but snapped it shut after seeing the glance Ron Weasley was giving him. Word had spread through the school pretty quickly that Harry Potter had gone dark, supposedly as a result of his extensive 'tutoring sessions' with Professor Vassago. As a result, the Boy-Who-Lived now found himself to be almost as much of a social pariah as he had been last year, when his name had been shot out of the Goblet of Fire.

Not that he gave a shit, really. Hermione and Ron weren't speaking to him, but he was glad. After their argument the two had tried in vain to convince Harry to check into St. Mungo's for an exorcism. Things had come to a head when Harry awoke one night to find the two on either side of his bed preparing to douse him in holy water and sage smoke. After that, he made it known that they were far from welcome anywhere near him.

After a few minutes of struggling, Harry tossed the book away from him. It hadn't worked since Vassago had left: the text was incomprehensible to him. Harry stood up and fished his cloak out from under his pillow. Perhaps he'd go and practice his swordplay in the Room of Requirement. Slipping the cloak on as he descended from the boy's dormitory, he crept past the Gryffindors in the common room and out through the portrait hole.

Once outside, he threw off the cloak and consulted the Marauders Map. There were no prefects on this floor at the moment, and Filch was prowling down in the dungeons. Only one other person was on the same floor as Harry, and they appeared to be lurking right around the corner.

Harry pulled out his wand. "Long way from the dungeons, aren't you, Malfoy?" he called out, peering into the darkness.

Draco drifted out of the shadows. Despite his apparent nonchalance, his surprised eyes betrayed his caution. "Easy, Potter," he said, holding out his hands. "I'm here to talk."

"Honestly, I'm not in the mood. If you want to schedule an appointment, call my secretary."

Draco smirked. "You're getting better at your comebacks. Professor Vassago taught you well."

"I haven't switched to the Dark Side, if that's what you're implying."

Malfoy gave him a knowing look. "No doubt, Potter."

"Why are you creeping around up here?" Harry asked.

Malfoy gestured to the stairs. "Come with me. I want to show you something,"

"A new broomstick? Please tell me you're not here to gloat."

"Potter, this is important, so will you please cut the bullshit and follow?" Malfoy snapped angrily.

"Where are we going?"

"The Room of Requirement?" Harry said with a start as they reached the tapestry of St. Barnabas the Barmy.

"You thought you were so clever, holding your DA meetings here," Draco said, pacing back and forth three times with a grin. "As if you were the only one who knew the castle's secrets." The door appeared and Malfoy grasped the iron handle and opened it. "Are you coming in?"

They entered the room, which was arranged as a sort of library. The walls and rugs were a rich Slytherin green. "What do you have to show me?"

"It's over here," Malfoy replied, walking towards the corner of the room. A stone bowl sat on a pedestal.

"A pensieve?"

"I have a memory I'd like to show you." Malfoy replied, producing a glass vial.

* * *

Malfoy was ascending the staircase, heading towards Vassago's office. Approaching the door, he ducked into the shadows as it suddenly opened.

"Well, that cleared out the pipes. Same time tomorrow, Pomona?"

"Honestly, Vassago, what makes you think I'd come back?" the older professor, looking decidedly disheveled, replied with a grin.

"You always do." The door started to close, only to pop back open. "Oh, while you're going, could you tell Mr. Malfoy that I'm ready to see him. He's hiding behind that suit of armor over there."

Malfoy swore before emerging from his hiding place. "Here I am, Professor."

"Ah, good."

Malfoy entered the DADA professor's office. Vassago was sitting behind his desk, pouring wine into a goblet shaped like a skull. "You were expecting me?" Malfoy asked.

"I knew you were coming, Malfoy."

"What are you, a seer?"

"No. I'm just attuned to people's intentions," Vassago replied, leaning back in his chair and sipping from the skull. "Would you like some wine? I only have one skull, but there are some coffee mugs lying around."

"Who are you?" Draco asked.

"I'm your friendly Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," he replied. He smirked at Malfoy's stone expression. "I'm also a drunk, a lech, a fraud, and a lunatic. At least, so sayeth most of the staff and student body." He paused and appraised Malfoy. "You're not satisfied."

"Potter attacked me with crows yesterday," Malfoy replied.

"Ah, yes, he told me about that," Vassago said, opening a desk drawer for a cigarette. "In my opinion, you were asking for it."

"Only dark wizards can control blackbirds," Malfoy replied. "You obviously can, the way you barged into the Welcome Feast. He's been in your office a lot lately. 'Private Tutoring'. At first we thought you two were romantically involved."

"That would be a serious breach of school conduct," Vassago replied. "Besides, I don't think he's bent. Guy needs to get laid ASAP, though. Have you seen how he mooned over that Ravenclaw Chang earlier this year?"

"You're teaching him the Dark Arts," Malfoy said impatiently.

"What an outrageous accusation."

"Do you deny it?"

"Of course not. That's exactly what I've been doing."

"Who do you work for?" Malfoy asked, standing up. "The Dark Lord?"

Vassago laughed, spitting wine across the table. "Voldemort? Don't be ridiculous."

"Then who?" Malfoy asked, flinching slightly at the villain's name. "Not the Ministry, or else you'd be helping Father and Umbridge."

Vassago set down the skull and stared at Malfoy. The air suddenly grew cold. The candles on the walls flickered and then were snuffed by a sudden wind. "You're clever. Malfoy. But you know nothing." He stood, suddenly looming in the small room. "What did you hope to accomplish by confronting me? I could kill you with a flick of my wand. I could do even worse."

Malfoy inched his chair a few inches back from the professor. "I know you have more power than anything the Dark Lord can imagine."

"Don't try and brown-nose me now." The professor's eyes began to glow, illuminating the dark room like the lenses of a lighthouse.

Malfoy began to shake as the thing began to advance around the desk towards the Slytherin. "What are you?" he stammered.

"Really? Next time you come around, try and do some research first. I'm surprised no one's figured it out, yet." The professor laughed, smoke curling around his face. "I've done my own research, Malfoy. I can read you like a book, just from your smell." Vassago sniffed the air like a beast. "Quite the aroma, Mr. Malfoy. Guilt, doubt, fear, and just a hint of… _chianti_?" He paused, and sniffed again. "Oh, that's just the wine."

"You're a monster!" Malfoy gasped.

"Getting warmer," the professor said tauntingly. "Yes, I'm starting to figure you out. Draco Malfoy, the posturing bad boy with inner demons. Daddy didn't love you, did he? Thought you were a pansy, not tough enough to fight the 'good' fight. Took you on a ride-along, I bet. What did you learn that night? How well did you sleep afterwards?"

Malfoy toppled out of the chair and began to back towards the door. "Have mercy!" he shouted.

Vassago stopped, grinning down like a tiger. The candles flared back up, bathing the room in their warm glow. Vassago held out a hand. "I'd like to talk to you about the state of your soul."

Malfoy smacked the hand away and shot up, throwing the classroom door open and vanishing into the darkness beyond. Vassago peered out into the hall and shook his head mournfully. "Was it something I said?"

* * *

The image swirled for a moment as the scene shifted. Malfoy was again waiting in silence outside the DADA professor's office. As he debated whether to knock or run away, the door slowly creaked open, Malfoy girded his loins and crept in.

Vassago was seated behind the desk, playing with what looked like a set of scales. He glanced up and smiled as the Slytherin took a seat. With a wave of his hand, the door slammed shut and locked. "Have you done your research this time, Mr. Malfoy?"

Malfoy nodded his head. "Demon."

"Ace in the hole, ten points for Slytherin. Another ten for not pissing yourself during our last meeting. I really hate when people do that. You never quite get the smell out of the rug."

"So why are you here?" Malfoy asked, attempting to calm himself. "Why are you helping Potter?"

"I can't really answer those questions," Vassago replied, "Client confidentiality agreement."

"So Potter's a client," Malfoy remarked, putting the pieces together. "So he came to you for help, and you're giving it to him? What is he offering?"

"Standard rate is one soul, preferably human or close."

"But why Potter?" Malfoy spat angrily, "he's the bloody good guy! Prancing around like he's Merlin incarnate."

"Who would you rather I help?" Vassago asked. "Voldemort?"

"Surely, if evil is your line of work, your lot would be backing him?"

Vassago's smile widened. "Why do you think Voldemort is evil?" Malfoy blanched. "Surely you, a Pure Blooded up-and-coming Death Eater potentiate, would find no moral fault in his… call it philosophy?  
"Of course, you're saying that being by nature classified as an evil, 'Dark Creature', I'm inclined to spread the ways of evil." The demon wagged a finger. "Not the case. What do you think this is?" He gestured to the scale on his desk.

"It's just a balance scale," Malfoy replied.

"It's also a representational model of the world. See how the scale is evenly balanced?" he asked. One pan held several dozen white marbles. The other pan several dozen black marbles. "Good is on one side, evil," he gestured to the black marble on the opposite plate, "is on the other. In an ideal world, good and evil act as balance and counterbalance. For every act of evil, there is an act of good. For every potential adulterer one of my kind tempts, an angel sweeps in and saves another from the error of their errs. If one were to overpower the other, you would have chaos, destruction, collapse.

"Now, along comes Voldemort." he opened a desk drawer and rifled through it. Malfoy recoiled, covering his nose, as the demon pulled out a fresh handful of manure. "Things have been pretty quiet for a long time. Nothing to interrupt the balance. Voldemort, however, is a wild card, and unforeseen variable." Vassago flung the cowshit down onto the scale. The device toppled over the desk, scattering marbles across the classroom floor. Malfoy flinched as several flecks of shit landed on his school robes. Vassago waved a hand, banishing the smashed scale, the marbles, and the manure. He leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Do you catch my drift?"

"But others have done worse acts," Malfoy replied, sweating. "Why is the Dark Lord such an exception?"

" _Because he will not die!_ " Vassago said, slamming his hand on the desk. "Despite your actions on Earth, in death your deeds are judged. Voldemort will never face a higher power, will never face punishment for his crimes. He's got the ultimate get-out-of-jail-free card, and it goes against all the rules! Every action has a consequence, Mr. Malfoy. It's a universal rule. If an exception is made to the rule, the universe will fall apart."

Malfoy was silent, the weight of the demon's words settling in his mind. "Suppose I were to believe you," he replied. "What would you have me do?"

"Help save the universe, of course," Vassago replied with a smile.

"What could I possibly do?" Malfoy shot back, standing up. "I have no power. You know what I am, a posturing brat."

"If it's power you seek," the demon began, snapping his fingers. A legal document appeared in his hand. "I believe I can be of assistance."


	12. BLATANT FANSERVICE AHEAD!

Harry came out of the pensieve and turned to Draco. "You didn't."

Draco made something between a smirk and a grimace. "I did."

"You fucking idiot."

"Oh, pot calling the kettle black, Mr. Boy-Who-Lived-and-Lost-His-Soul."

"That's a lot of hyphens." Harry rubbed his face with his hands. "So, what does this mean for us?"

"I believe I am to aid you in your quest," Draco replied.

"Snowball's chance in hell." Potter turned and moved towards the exit. Draco dropped into step beside him. "Draco, go back to the dungeons. I'm not doing this with you."

"Come on, Potter, you saw the pensieve. Vassago's grim portent of doom if the Dark Lord wins this battle."

"What do you have to lose if he wins? Your precious father gets a plum position as the Dark Lord's footrest. You'll be a big bad Death Eater, ruling England with an iron fist. You'll finally have the bloody respect and authority you've always wanted."

"I don't want to see everything go up in flames!" Draco snapped, stepping in front of Harry. "I have modest ambitions: rule Magical Britain, attain unimaginable wealth, maybe get a snog or two in. I can't very well do that if the entire universe collapses upon itself, as your pet demon so artfully predicted."

"Oh, good. You don't want to destroy the world," Harry replied, "You only want to rule it. Sorry if I fail to feel sympathetic to your plight."

He went for the door but Draco threw a hand against it, forcing it shut. "Potter, this isn't how this is supposed to go. Can we forget the bloody pissing contest I instigated in first year and talk straight?"

Harry sighed. "You shouldn't have sold your soul, Draco. It's not your fight."

"Tough. It is now," Draco laughed, leaning against the door. "So, what's your plan?"

"Plan?"

"To fight the Dark Lord?"

"What makes you think I have a plan?"

"Merlin! You really are hopeless!" Draco threw his hands up in the air. "Typical bloody Gryffindor, running in half-cocked. You obviously need a healthy dose of Slytherin sensibility and strategy if you want to get through this fight alive. What have you been doing this whole year, besides screwing around with Dumbledore's Army and stalking that Chang girl?"

Harry sighed, " _Xiphos Afysikos._ " The sword materialized in his hands. He swung it around through the air, smirking at the Slytherin. "How's that?"

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "A fancy sword won't be much against a wand-waving wizard."

"Shoot a spell at me."

Malfoy rolled his eyes before producing his wand. "Stupefy."

The spell shout out across the room towards Harry. With a flick of his wrist, the sword deflected the spell away. Draco ducked as the errant ball of light impacted the door inches above his head, splintering the wood. Harry banished the sword and smiled what can only be described as a shit-eating grin. "Not too shabby. Knocks back any spell weaker than an Unforgivable."

Draco stood and dusted himself off. "Looks like you're not completely hopeless. Still, other than that and your damned bird-control powers, what else have you learned?"

"Various little tricks and stuff," Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "I haven't been able to learn much more since Vassago left. His magic seemed to help to decode the guide he gave me."

"Show me," Draco said, holding out a hand. Reluctantly, Harry handed over the old leather book. Draco opened it up and smirked as he read through it. "Looks like Old Aramaic. A tricky language, mostly extinct. I think there may be some books in the restricted section of the library if you want to translate."

"How do you know what Aramaic looks like?"

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "I come from a family steeped in dark magic. We have a lot of very old, very illegal spellbooks lying around. Summer breaks, nothing to do on rainy days, you need some light reading."

Harry frowned and grabbed the book back. "Fine. You want to help? Get me that book from the restricted section, then we can talk. But know this, Malfoy. I don't like you. I'll never like you. That will never change, not even with this abrupt villain heel-turn of yours. Nothing on Merlin's green earth short of blatant fanservice will ever make me like you. Got it?"

"What was that about fanservice?" Draco asked.

 _"Got it?"_ Harry repeated, teeth gritted.

"Got it."

"Good."

* * *

The next thing Harry knew, he was waking up in someone else's bed. Bleary-eyed, he sat up and glanced around. Green comforter, green bedcurtains, green shield on the door with a silver snake coiled in the center of it.

Then he realized he wasn't wearing any clothes.

 _Oh, fuck._

He glanced over and stiffened **(You know what I mean; get your head out of the gutter)** at the sight of Draco Malfoy curled peacefully beside him. Tentatively, he lifted the covers, confirming his darkest fear.

"Uh, Draco?"

Draco snorted and opened an eye. He seemed confused. "Potter?" His eyes widened and he sat up ramrod straight. "What the bloody hell are you doing in my dorm?"

Harry grimaced. "Blatant fanservice."

"What?" Draco paused and looked down. Then he looked at Harry. Then he lifted the sheets. Then he went pale as a ghost. "No."

"I think I should go." Harry said, jumping to his feet and grabbing his boxers, which were hanging from the bedpost. "I think I'm late for Charms."

 _"No…"_ Draco let out a groan, putting his face in his hands.

"I'll see myself out."

"Noooooo."

"Where's that bloody invisibility cloak?"

"No. No. No. No. No."

"There it is, caught in the chandelier. Now, where's my trousers."

"NO!" Draco began to shout. "NO! NO! NO!"

Harry finally finished dressing and ran to the door, throwing the cloak over him. "Remember to get that book from the library for me. See you in Potions."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

* * *

 **Yes.**

 **LIKE AND SUBSCRIBE! THE GIVER OF BLATANT FANSERVICE DECREES IT!**

 **I'm going to hell for this, aren't I?**


	13. Chapter 13: Ooh, the Connotations!

**Wow, I'm on a roll recently, aren't I? Just goes to show how I'm willing to avoid architecture at any cost. Enjoy this piece.**

 **Haven't really said this before, but I don't own Harry Potter. Didn't think I needed to say it, really. J.K. wears the pants in this relationship. I** ** _do_** **claim to own Vassago, so there's that. Anyway, don't sue or whatever.**

* * *

 **Part 1: It gets better**

One night later, Harry was ensconced in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, downing a bottle of firewhiskey and attempting to forget.

"Harry, we need to talk."

"Whatever anyone's said, it's a lie," Harry replied automatically, before stopping himself. He glanced up at Hermione and Ron, who were standing in front of him, looking at him with some confusion. Neville and Luna Lovegood (who let her in the common room?) stood behind them, Neville shaking slightly, Luna staring into space and fiddling absentmindedly with her radish earrings.

"What's a lie?"

"Nothing. Ignore that. What do you want?"

Ron shuffled his feet. "Well, we've been thinking, Hermione and I, and we may have been a little harsh with you."

Harry barked out a laugh. "What gave it away? The part where you doused me in holy water or the time you sewed silver crosses into my school robes?"

"Both, to be honest," Hermione replied. "The point of this is, Harry, that we're sorry for the way we reacted. At this stage you don't need to be alienated any further, especially by your friends. I'll admit I'm not entirely comfortable with your deal with Professor Vassago, but I can understand your reasons for doing so."

"Yeah, Dumbles wasn't exactly as helpful as he could have been," Ron added thoughtfully.

"Yeah, you'd almost think he has some strange hidden agenda going on," Harry remarked with a smirk, setting down the firewhiskey bottle and standing up. "Thanks, guys, that took a lot of guts, admitting you were in the wrong."

"Does that mean we're good?" Ron asked with a smile.

"Fuck no!" Harry replied sharply, causing his friends to jump back slightly. "This isn't some stupid work of fiction where I'll forgive you two for being assholes just because of the power of friendship and understanding and all that crap. I forgive you, but we're not square. Not yet. You want to help me fight Voldemort, I'm not going to stop you, but that requires a willingness to ignore your moral compass at times. Got it?"

Ron and Hermione glanced at one another with uncertainty before turning back to Harry and nodding. "Deal."

"Good, because this may get messy. Lines will be crossed. I should tell you that I've got Draco Malfoy working with me now. I'm putting aside my dislike of him for the moment, and I expect you two to do the same."

"Just as long as you aren't screwing him or anything," Ron said, laughing.

"OH COME ON! IT ONLY HAPPENED ONCE!"

Hermione and Ron turned white. The rest of the crowded room turned and stared at Harry in a mix of confusion and shock. "Harry," Hermione squeaked. "You.."

"It was for comic relief, mainly," Luna said, smiling dumbly. "The last few chapter were far too serious for the author's liking."

"Draco and you..." Ron said, before toppling over in a dead faint.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Should have kept my bloody mouth shut."

Hermione resisted the urge to vomit (she managed it better than Neville, who dove for the nearest bin) and smiled weakly, "Well, hopefully things can't get any worse."

* * *

 **Part 2: It gets worse**

"'Educational Decree Number Sixty-Nine: _In light of Ministry fears over the demon Vassago's influence on the school, all students and faculty will be submitted to mental examinations for demonic interference. Said examinations are mandatory_ ,'" Hermione said, reading aloud the latest of Umbridge's posters.

"Well, fuck," Harry muttered.

"This is an outrage!" Heads turned as McGonagall descended the grand staircase, dragging a suitcase behind her. "I didn't even know he was a demon!"

"Hem hem," Umbridge appeared, smiling maliciously. Several aurors trailed behind her, wands ready for a conflict. "Maybe this will be a lesson on the dangers of inter-faculty relationships." She turned and glanced up the stairs at the remaining professors watching the Deputy Headmistress's sacking. "Anyone else want to fess up to… liaisons with the former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"

After a moment's pause, several professors meekly raised their hands. Snape, the only one who hadn't banged Vassago, glanced around in shock. "Binns? Why? How?"

The ghost shrugged unapologetically. "He made me feel corporeal again."

"That's an image I didn't need to think of," Snape said, biting back some bile.

"Well, happy birthday to me," Umbridge purred. Several first years went green at the sound.

"This is an outrage!" Malfoy had also made his entrance, holding a note in his quivering hand. "You can't expel me! My father practically owns your ass!"

"Political alliances must be disregarded at times for the good of the public," Umbridge replied stiffly. "Believe me when I say this pains me greatly, Mr. Malfoy." The smirk on her face, however, only grew wider. "Should have kept it in your trousers."

"I didn't have sex with the professor!" Malfoy shot back. "Such accusations are libelous, and I will take you to court."

"I'm afraid you won't be able to do that," Umbridge replied. "Ministry law states that any wizards or witches found to have, hem hem, socialized with known demonic entities are to be placed in forced incarceration in St. Mungo's possession ward."

"Since when?" McGonagall snapped angrily.

"Since yesterday, Minerva," Umbridge said smoothly.

At that moment, Harry felt the ground drop out from under him. He hit the ground hard, convulsing as his scar began to pulse and sting.

 _Images flashed through his mind: Voldemort, Sirius Black, the long hallway, yadda yadda, you get the picture._

When he came to, covered in a cold sweat, Hermione and Ron were helping him up.

"Voldemort?" Hermione whispered.

"Yeah," Harry could taste blood. "He's got Padfoot."

Umbridge, who had previously failed to notice the Golden Trio, was now grinning at them wickedly. "My, my. Has our resident celebrity had an attack?"

"That's my line," Snape grumbled. Sprout stomped on his foot and glared at him.

"Just a seizure, Headmistress," Hermione replied weakly. "He gets them sometimes. Epilepsy."

"Very unlikely, Miss Granger," Umbridge replied, stepping forwards smoothly. "Mr. Potter is known to have spent a lot of time around Professor Vassago. Seems he may have acquired a nasty case of something from him."

Hermione pulled out her wand, training it at the pink monstrosity. "Back off, toad. He's fine."

" _Petrificus totalus._ " Hermione stiffened as one of the aurors calmly cast the spell at her.

Umbridge stepped up to her and casually pushed her over with her finger. "I would like to inspect Mr. Potter myself. I don't need your approval, Mud-"

" _Enough!_ " Harry's wand was out and jabbed into the woman's neck in a flash. The gathered students gasped and stepped back. Ron looked gobsmacked. Harry's eyes flashed yellow. " _This has gone too far_ ," Harry said, his voice echoing through the hall.

"Potter, drop the wand now!" The aurors took up defensive stances. Several students, caught in the potential crossfire, hit the deck.

Harry grinned. " _Potter's not here, Mrs. Torrance_."

Harry's mouth suddenly opened up, unhinging, as a hand emerged from down his throat. As the crowd watched in stunned silence, the hand was followed by another, then arms and elbows, a head, a torso, and two feet. The mouth snapped shut, and Harry wavered for a second, as Vassago stood before him, smiling like a NASCAR fanatic after a spectacular crash.

"That," the demon began, pausing to stretch his back languidly, "was extremely uncomfortable. Honestly, Harry, you need to relieve your anxieties more. All those knots in your stomach made for cramped living arrangements."

He turned his attention away from Harry to Umbridge, who had broken free of the stunned Boy-Who-Lived's grip and was now quailing back. "Hello, Dolores. We need to talk."


	14. Here Go Hell Come

To say Vassago's sudden reappearance had Dolores Umbridge a little put out would be a prime example of comedic understatement.

"Aurors! Subdue the demon!"

Vassago made a sharp gesture with his hand. An unseen force picked the aurors up and hurled them back into the wall. They slumped to the ground unconscious; Harry was thankful Tonks and Kingsley hadn't been among them.

"That wasn't the kind of welcome I had in mind," Vassago said, smiling. "Aren't you going to ask me how my vacation was? It was great, thanks for asking. I went to Syria, very great. It's great to know that in an uncertain time as 1995, Syria is a peaceful paradise with a killer nightlife and a host of pristine religious and cultural monuments. I highly recommend it."

He turned and grinned at Harry. "How you been, buddy?"

"I've been better," Harry replied stiffly. "Were you possessing me?"

"A little. Don't worry, for the most part I was just using your ribcage as a crash pad. By the way, congrats on cashing your V-Card."

"Shut up."

"Touchy. Forget I asked. Malfoy! Glad to see you. How's your back?"

"Fuck you."

" _Hem hem_ ," Umbridge, having regained her composure, had pulled out her wand. "Sorry to interrupt the reunion, but I believe we have unfinished business, professor."

"Oh, Umbridge. Sorry, completely forgot you were there. I see you've done well for yourself since I left. Really shaking things up. So tell me," Vassago paused to light a cigarette. "What do I have to do to get you to stop, short of actually doing you serious bodily harm?"

"I think you'll find the Ministry incorruptible, demon."

"Pull your tongue out of my ass, Dolores. I know who's pulling the strings, and it ain't yours truly or 'The Greater Good'. Fact of the matter is your Ministry has corrupted itself quite nicely without my intervention. Shame you didn't think to consult me, you might have gotten away with it. Of course, I can't let you get away with it."

"And what," Umbridge began, smiling sweetly, "are you going to do about it?"

"I'm going to destroy you, or course."

"You're going to kill me? A ministry official, in front of all these minors?"

Vassago laughed, "There are plenty of ways to destroy you without killing you and dear Cornelius."

"How do you propose to do that?" the Under-Secretary asked.

"You'll read all about it in tomorrow's edition of the _Prophet_. The first in a series of exposes on Ministry misconduct."

"The _Prophet_ will not slander the Ministry in such a fashion," Umbridge stated pompously. "I'd like to see you try and get your accusations published."

"Oh, they'll get published. I needed some help, of course." Vassago turned to Malfoy. "Tell her, Draco."

"The Malfoy family has long been a majority shareholder of the _Daily Prophet_ , as you are no doubt aware. Last year, my father gifted half of his shares to me."

"Young Draco was generous enough to transfer his shares into a Muggle investment company by the name of Diablo Securities," Vassago continued. "I now own the majority share of the Ministry's mouthpiece. I'm sure you'll love the new direction the paper is moving towards. Guess who's writing the exposes? Rita Skeeter. Funny how strange times make for strange bedfellows. Draco knows what I mean."

"I fucking hate you," Draco snarled.

"No you don't."

Umbridge, who had been silent and stiff as a board while Vassago spoke, smiled again. "Regardless as to your newfound career in media, Professor, I still control this school. Unless you can get through the Board of Governors, I don't see how you can change that."

"Well, darn, Headmistress, you have a point," Vassago conceded mockingly. "However, were you to vacate your post in some unfortunate manner, that would negate this particular quandary."

"Are you threatening me?" Umbridge asked through clenched teeth. Harry swore he heard several molars crack from the pressure.

"Of course. What else would I have meant?" Vassago asked, stepping forwards and cracking his knuckles.

Umbridge staggered back and pulled out her wand. "Stand back! I order you!"

Vassago stopped and raised his hands. "I'm not going to hurt you, Dolores. I have friends in low places who can do that for me."

The demon put his fingers to his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. A second later, the windows of the hall exploded inwards. The room filled with harsh caws as hundreds of crows swarmed in, descending upon the Headmistress en masse. Within moments, Umbridge's flailing, screaming figure vanished under the black mass. When the crows finally took to the air, all that was left was a broken wand and a pink heeled shoe.

Vassago spun around, coolly staring down the gathered students and staff, all struck dumb by the display. "Dear me, seems the Headmistress has unexpectedly left. Whatever shall we do? What do you suggest, Deputy Headmaster Snape?"

The potions professor coughed, breaking the stunned silence. "I suppose I'll have to fill her absence until she returns."

Vassago grinned at the sallow figure. "Yes, that would be for the best.

Snape nodded calmly. "Prefects, escort all students back to your common rooms."

With evident relief, the gathered students began to disperse. As Vassago turned to leave, Harry stepped in his way, flanked by Ron and Hermione. "Professor, we have a favor to ask..."

* * *

"So explain to me again why I'm driving a bunch of hormonal teens to London in the middle of the night?" Vassago asked as he downshifted and overtook a lumbering panel van.

"Sirius Black has been captured by Voldemort," Harry repeated, flinching as Vassago changed lanes, narrowly missing an oncoming lorry. He was sitting in the passenger seat, wishing Vassago's car had seatbelts. Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Luna were crowded in the backseat. Neville Longbottom and Draco Malfoy has been shoved into the boot, with great protests of displeasure. "He's going after something in the Ministry of Magic."

"What is he after?"

"We don't know," Hermione said.

"And where'd this intel come from?"

"Harry had another vision."

"Alright, so we're doing this all based on one of Harry's schizophrenic fever dreams. Great. I have no further questions." Vassago punched the horn angrily. "Fucking hell! This car in front of us will not fucking get out of the way." He honked again, lowering his window and gesturing rudely. "Who is this moron?"

* * *

"That was a very nice dinner," Petunia remarked, fiddling with the car's radio. Vernon had purchased the Saab after the old Rover had been written off last fall in The-Incident-That-Would-Not-Be-Mentioned. Petunia had demanded the safest car on the market, and Vernon had complied, to the chagrin of his credit rating.

"Yes, plenty of good food. Pity we couldn't stay for dessert," Vernon replied.

A fusillade of beeps jolted him out of his reverie. "What the devil?"

"That man in the car behind us is giving you the finger, Vernon!" Petunia said, peering into the rearview mirror. Dudley jerked awake in the backseat, drool hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"Bastard!" Vernon hissed. "Well, if he wants to get past me, he'll have to go through me."

* * *

Vassago swore and punched the dashboard. "Unbelieveable! The fat fucker is slowing down. He wants to play this game, fine. Hope he likes it rough."

* * *

"He's closing the gap, Vernon. I think he's going to ram us."

"He wouldn't dare."

A second later, the car jerked as the pursuing car slammed against the rear of the Saab with a crunch. Vernon shouted and stomped on the brakes as the car swerved sharply and skidded off the road. Petunia screamed in horror as the car flipped, sliding upside down into a thicket of bushes before slamming into a tree.

Vernon's curses were cut off by the deployment of the airbag. "Mother-"

* * *

"-fuck did you just do!" Hermione shouted, peering out the rear window in horror.

"Never seen a car flip like that," Vassago mused calmly. "Guess those Saabs aren't as safe as they're cracked up to be. Oh, look!" He pointed out the dashboard at a passing road sign. "City center, twenty miles. We're almost there."

 **Don't you just love recurring gags?**

 **Up Next: The Department of Mysteries.**


	15. The Gang Storms the Ministry

Midnight: the street was empty save for an idling black Mustang on the corner. Five pairs of eyes were staring at a red phone booth with varying degrees of apprehension.

"What are you guys waiting for?" Vassago finally snapped, breaking the silence in the car. "You gonna just wait out here for Voldemort's goons to finish stealing the magic McGuffin?"

"We need a plan," Hermione said, angrily glaring at the demon. "We can't just go in there wands blazing."

"Why not? That's the best way to go in! Who needs a plan or a strategy? I'm pretty sure the author has no idea how this fucking story will end, so why should you?"

"Ignoring the ludicrousness of your statement," Harry said, opening the car door. "Vassago's right; we can't wait any longer. Besides, how hard can it be? We've got a demon on our side."

Vassago coughed, "Actually, Harry, I can't go in there with you."

"Why not?"

"Can't interfere with events. Demonic policy."

"That's bullshit," Harry replied. "You've already done plenty of interfering so far."

"Touche," Vassago said. "But all the same, I'm not coming along. At least, not until you and your friends fuck things up and I emerge from hiding and save the day."

"What?" Ron asked. "Why would you do something like that?"

"To increase my badass mystique," the demon replied enigmatically. "Don't worry, I have complete faith that most of you will come out of this unharmed."

"Most of us?" Hermione repeated.

"I'm hedging my bets." Vassago leaned over and opened the glove box. "Before you guys go, I want to give you some items to help you in your quest."

"Items?" Harry asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Are these items anything like your 'birthday gift'?"

"Of course not, I'm not completely irresponsible," Vassago replied. "Now, who wants to carry the gun?"

"You can't expect a bunch of teenage kids to carry Muggle firearms," Hermione asked.

"Dibs!"

Vassago smiled at Hermione as he tossed the handgun back to the grinning redhead. "Boys and their penis-substitutes, am I right?"

Hermione grabbed the grenades and hung them over her shoulder. "Why does everything you say make little to no sense?"

"It makes sense to the readers," Luna said. **"By the way, how are you enjoying this fic so far? Please leave a comment below."**

"Who are you talking to, and why is it in bold text?"

Harry put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Hermione, I'd just drop it if I were you."

 **"If you enjoy this story, why not try '** ** _Harry Sanchez and the Magic McGuffin_** **'? Updated monthly or whenever the author can be fucking bothered."**

Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to fight off an impending migraine. "Right, any words of advice, Vassago?"

"Don't get killed."

"Anything more helpful than that?"

The demon paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Have fun?"

"Forget it." Harry said, jumping out of the car.

The gang was halfway to the phone booth when Vassago rolled down his window. "Actually, one bit of advice! Let Mr. Malfoy and Longbottom out of the trunk."

 **"Please like and subscribe."**

"Luna, I swear to god!"

Hermione shook her head. "I have a bad feeling about this."

* * *

"Oh look, brains in jars," Hermione said flatly as the gang stumbled into yet another strange room deep in the Department of Mysteries.

"Neat," Luna said, snapping a picture with a disposable camera. "That'll be a great pic for the _Quibbler,_ after the weird stone portal we just saw that is in no way a foreshadowing of life-shattering events to come."

"What was that about foreshadowing?" Neville asked.

"Don't worry about that, Neville. Unless you have a beloved relative you care very much about."

"Focus, guys," Harry said as he moved across the room towards another door. "We need to find the door from my visions."

The gang moved through the door and into a long corridor of featureless doors. At the end of the corridor stood the door Harry was looking for. "Wow, that was easier than I thought it would be."

"Harry, the door is ajar," Hermione whispered, pointing.

"Shit, okay, everyone stay quiet and get behind me. Ron, get the gun ready."

"How do I do that?"

"Take the safety off."

"Like this?"

BANG

"God fucking dammit, Ron."

Stealth thrown out the window, the kids charged through the door and found themselves in a cavernous room of shelves sagging under the weight of countless glowing glass balls. "The Hall of Prophecy," Luna whispered dreamily.

"How do you know what this room is called?" Harry asked.

"My father asked one of the Unspeakables about it for an article he was writing."

"What did the Unspeakable say?"

"He said, ' _There is no such thing as the Hall of Prophecy_ ,'" Luna said, quickly winding up the camera for another shot. "But not before shouting, ' _Who the fuck told you about the Hall of Prophecy?_ '"

"Well, well, well," a voice echoed through the room as a half-dozen figures in skull masks emerged from behind the shelves, wands trained on the kids. The lead Death Eater removed his mask to reveal the smirking, punchable face of Lucius Malfoy. "Harry Potter, what an unexpected surprise. Drop your wands and, whatever that thing is," he gestured to Ron's gun, "You're completely surrounded."

The kids complied reluctantly. Lucius sneered and approached them, casually twirling his wand. "Is this Dumbledore's Army? Can't say I'm impressed. All I see is ginger and the Mudblood, as well as Loony Lovegood and Longbottom and- _Draco_?"

Draco, who until then had been crouched behind Neville, straightened himself and waved nervously. "Hi, father."

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" the Death Eater looked extremely put out by his son's unexpected presence.

"Good question, What _am_ I doing here?" Draco repeated, glancing around in mock confusion. "I think I may be under the Imperius."

"That's my bit," Lucius muttered.

"Draco, man up." Harry snapped before turning back to Malfoy Senior. "Where's my godfather?"

"Not here, I'm afraid," Lucius replied, his smirk widening. "Were you expecting him to be?"

Harry faltered. "Well, to be honest, kinda."

"I'm afraid you've fallen for an extremely convoluted plan to entice you. All credit is due to the Dark Lord, of course. He's very clever, don't you know."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Last time I listen to the voices in my head."

"Indeed. Sorry to spoil your fun, Mr. Potter, but I'm afraid we have no use for you at the moment," One of the Death Eaters produced one of the glowing glass balls from a robe pocket and held it up. "We were planning on luring you here so you'd help us find your prophecy, but fortunately for us Crabbe stumbled upon it a minute into our search. If you'd kindly step aside and let us through, no one needs to get hurt."

"How about you and your goons go fuck yourselves instead?" Harry asked. "Because that scenario is much more probable than me going anywhere with you."

"Wow, someone's going to have to wash your mouth with soap," Lucius tutted. "Quite the tongue on you. I think I'm going to have to teach you to hold it in the presence of your betters. _Crucio_!"

Harry gritted his teeth and dropped to the ground as the curse struck him.

"Well, this is going about as well as I thought it would," Hermione mused quietly.

After a few moments, Lucius ceased with the spell and grimaced, pulling up his sleeve to examine his Dark Mark. "I'd love to keep torturing you, but the Dark Lord is coming, and he'll be mighty put off if he doesn't get to join in on the fun." He looked up and smiled at the rest of the DA. "You kids run along now. Harry is coming with us, but that doesn't mean you all have to die tonight. Any last words, Potter?"

"Yeah. I fucked your son."

"Going to pretend I didn't hear that."

Just then, the door behind them was kicked open, and a tall, gaunt figure dove through, wand raised. "Freeze! Wizard Cops, motherfucker!"

" **Oh great, now we're ripping off a more successful parody** ," Luna said, still deadpan.


	16. The Death of Stubby Boardman

"What the fuck?" Harry swore as several wizards streamed into the hall behind the students.

"Hello, Harry!" At the lead, wand held loosely in his hand, Sirius Black grinned photogenically. "We're here to rescue you."

"It's Stubby Boardman!" Luna breathed, eyes glowing. She quickly raised her camera and snapped a shot.

"Actually, that's Sirius Black," Ron replied.

"Seriously?" Neville asked.

Sirius waved. "No, I'm Sirius."

"You can't be serious," Draco snarled.

Black grinned, eyes dancing. "I am-"

"Enough with the fucking bit!" Harry snapped loudly. "Can we please focus!"

"Where's Malfoy Senior gone?" Hermione asked.

Harry whirled around to find the Death Eaters absent. "Fuck!"

"After them!" Sirius yelled, gesturing to the Order of the Phoenix. "Don't let them escape with the prophecy!" As the wizards raced after the Death Eaters, Sirius turned to his godson. "You might want to stay put, Harry. This is going to be very dangerous. Don't worry, though, I'll stop Lucius and his goons, and then we can have ice cream afterwards, my treat."

" **Foreshadowing** ," Luna whispered.

"Fuck that," Harry said, turning on his heel and racing after the Order members. "I'm going after the McGuffin."

"Prophecy," Neville corrected.

"Whatever."

* * *

The ensuing ten minutes was a fierce spell-battle only possible with high-tech special effects and expert stunt choreography. Seriously, the bit with Kingsley Shacklebolt and the flaming katana, unbe- _fucking_ -lievable. Like, next-level Michael Bay shit. It was like BLAM!, know what I'm sayin?

Unfortunately, literature isn't really a visual medium, so in the end you're going to have to trust me on this, it was epic. Not grand finale epic material, but a decent sub-climax, all the same.

Harry had been in pursuit of Malfoy and his goons the entire time, dodging dismemberment jinxes and loosing off wild spells of his own. Before he knew it, he found himself in the room with the creepy stone arch.

"Seriously, that thing is foreboding as fuck," Harry muttered.

"Well, that worked out better than I'd hoped," Lucius appeared from the other side of the Veil, casting a silent disarming spell. With him were his two henchmen (one clutching the McGuffin in his hand) and a tall, gaunt woman whose crazed demeanor and scene-chewing facial tics screamed 'Evil Ham'. "Really, Potter, falling for two traps in one night? You should have stayed behind and let your silly elders die for you."

"If I did that, I wouldn't be able to beat you to death with a brick on a rope," Harry replied frostily, he glanced over at the woman. "Who's the Damaged Goods?"

"Oh, apologies. Harry Potter, Bellatrix Lestrange. Bella, meet Harry Potter."

"Charmed," the woman replied cordially, before grabbing a fly out of the air and devouring it.

"Holy fuck," Harry recoiled.

"Yes, Cousin Bella spent quite a long time in Azkaban. Completely mad now. The Dark Lord does not allow her on the furniture." Lucius paused. "What were we talking about?"

"I'd just fallen into your trap," Harry replied.

"Ah, yes! Surrender Potter, and maybe we won't do very unpleasant things to you while we wait for the Dark Lord to arrive."

"I don't need a wand, Malfoy." Harry summoned the sword and swung it in an arc. "I want your heart on a plate."

Before Harry could finally unleash the barrage of badassitude we'd been waiting sixteen fucking chapter for, a loud bang echoed out, followed by a yelp of pain. Lucius Malfoy stared down in shock at the bloody stumps of his fingers. "What the hell was that?"

From the doorway behind Harry, Ron Weasley lowered the smoking handgun and grinned. "Muggle justice, motherfucker." Sirius stood next to the redhead, wand aimed at Bellatrix and striking a bold pose.

"That's not fair," Lucius said, clutching his crippled hand. "That's not fair at all."

"Tough," Harry said, raising his wand again. He gestured at the Death Eater holding the prophecy. "You, throw the globe over or Ron's going to turn your head into a canoe. I'm not fucking around this time."

The Death Eater with the prophecy nodded and lobbed the ball underhand across the room. Unfortunately, the Veil was in the way, and it sailed through the opening, vanishing in a blink.

For a good minute, the gathered combatants just stared in absolute shock at what had just happened. Lucius finally broke the silence. "What the fuck, Crabbe?"

"Sorry, my fingers slipped."

Lucius turned and pointed at Ron. "You, ginger with the Muggle boomstick. Shoot him."

Ron glanced over at Harry for confirmation. "I'll allow it."

"No, Harry!" Sirius stepped forward with great gusto. "These four need to be brought to justice. With them behind bars, the Ministry will finally believe Voldemort has returned, I'll get a pardon, and we'll all go out to Fortescue's for Butterbeer floats. Oh, bugger-"

At that moment, Harry's godfather slipped on one of Malfoy's fingers and skidded across the room, headfirst into the Veil.

"NO!" Harry yelled, as his beloved, long-absent, emotionally immature godfather vanished from this mortal plane.

Even the Death Eaters were shocked "Alright," Lucius Malfoy said, backing away from the Veil slowly, "That was _not_ my fault." After a beat for comedic effect, seen here-

 **One, and a-**

-they turned and ran.


	17. Prophecy is a Bitch

Harry blinked back into consciousness. He was on his knees in the Ministry lobby. Blood caked his shirt and shoes. He glanced down at the Death Eater lying in front of him, pinned to the marble floor with Harry's sword through his ribcage.

"Whoa, fuck," he muttered, pulling the sword out and pushing himself to his feet.

A black smoke hung in the air, ostensibly from a fire raging in some far-flung corner of the building. A human-shaped mass of smoke began to drift towards the floor, swirling and forming a figure.

"My, my, Harry. It appears the Child of the Light has fallen far."

Voldemort stepped from the smoke, white face almost luminous in the dim light. He glanced down at the impaled Death Eater, still squirming in his death throes. "Is that Nott I see? Pity, he was exceptionally dedicated."

"He died for his leader," Harry said numbly, raising his sword in front of him. "You could do him a solid and return the favor."

"I think not, Potter," Voldemort knocked the sword from Harry's grip with a wave of his hand. "A soldier gives his life without asking for anything in return."

"Actually," Nott wheezed, blood gurgling from under his skull mask. "I could use some medical attention, if we're being honest."

" _Avada Kedavra_." Nott flopped back on the marble, still. Voldemort lowered his wand and smiled at Harry. "Where is the prophecy, Harry?"

"It's gone," Harry replied, "Thrown into the Veil of Death. You'll never hear it. You've failed, Voldemort."

"You lie!" the Dark Lord hissed, eyes flashing red.

"He's not lying," an echoing voice said from the darkness. Harry and Voldemort both whipped their heads around in surprise. "He just doesn't know the whole story."

One of the Ministry elevator doors slid open with a ding, and a black-suited figure stepped out, a glowing blue orb clutched in its right hand. Vassago stepped into the light, stopping between Harry and the Dark Lord. "Hello, Tom," the demon said, playfully tossing the orb into the air and catching it. "Looking for this?"

"Who are you?" Voldemort asked, wand raised.

"I'm your friendly red right hand, Tommy Boy. Friends call me Vassago. You may not."

"You're the Dark Arts professor. Vassago the demon!"

"The Lord of Darkness, B. L. Z. Bubb, Mr. Scratch. Alice Cooper. Call me what you will," Vassago said.

"I care not what you are. You are nothing. Give me the prophecy."

"I don't know why you're so concerned with this," the demon said, holding up the orb and looking at it casually. "You know what they say about prophecies. Better not to hear them.

"Explain!" Voldemort shouted.

"You see, as a demon, I know a thing or two about fate. Some humans thing they are resigned to their fates, that it's all part of some big white-haired man's greater plan. Others say that fate is what you make it. These two conflicting arguments both carry hints of the truth.

"Fate is ever-changing. A man can shape his own destiny to how he sees fit, for no one commands you to do good or evil things. I can help people fall to the dark, but I don't force them to; they make the choice themselves, for whatever reasons.

"A prophecy, however, is a word from a higher power. A prophecy binds fate, forcing the participants to follow a set path. There is no going back once the cat is out of the bag." Vassago smiled. "Take this one, for instance." With that, he hurled the orb to the ground.

There was a flash of blue smoke, as Harry and Voldemort watched in stunned silence, a spectral voice issued forth from the smoke:

 _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…_

The voice began to fade to a whisper towards the end, when the smoke dissipated into the air, mingling with the smoke from the fire raging downstairs.

"Now, are you happy, Tom?" Vassago asked, turning to the Dark Lord. "Is that the answer you were seeking. Neither can live while the other dies. How does that make you feel? Afraid?"

"One of us must kill the other to live!" Voldemort said. "Why should I be afraid. I have killed children before."

"But not this child!" Vassago dashed over to Harry and grabbed him by the arm. "Not this particular little pain-in-the-ass. Remember the last time you tried? And the time before that? And the time before that? Oh, you've got a real losing streak with this fella, I'll tell you that. And now this prophecy, this edict of the fates themselves, they're saying you have to kill this boy or be killed yourself. How confident are you that you can follow through, with your track record. If I was a gambling man, I'd be throwing my money down on the spectacled little snot."

"I am unstoppable!" the Dark Lord screamed.

"Yes, but what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?" Vassago asked. "No one knows." He walked slowly across the hall towards the gaunt wizard, smiling like the Cheshire Cat. "That's why you're afraid. You don't know how this fight is going to turn out."

The demon leaned in and whispered into Voldemort's ear. "And when the fight is over, I will collect what was promised, Tom."

He stepped back, smile fading from his face. "If I were you, I'd run away at this point."

Voldemort stiffened, glancing around the hall, then to Harry, with eyes wide and uncertain. Then, with a swish of his robes, he vanished.

A moment later, another figure manifested in the hall next to Harry in a flash of fire. "Leave the boy, Tom! Fight me!" Dumbledore shouted.

"Fight's over, Albus," Vassago said, spinning to face the headmaster. "You really need to get your timing right."

The bearded wizard glanced around at the Ministry, devoid of Death Eaters but slowly starting to fill with stunned Ministry officials and Hogwarts students, and sighed. "Oh, bugger."

 **THERE'S THE CLIMAX. PERHAPS ONE MORE CHAPTER AND THEN I START WORK ON THE SEQUEL. PLEASE BE SURE TO LIKE AND FOLLOW, AND LEAVE A REVIEW IF YOU THINK YOU'RE HARD ENOUGH.**


	18. Bust Out the Kleenex

Harry sat alone in the Dumbledore's office. The headmaster had left, presumably to go bother someone else with his omnipresent, 'I-know-more-than-you-na-na-na-boo-boo' self. Harry didn't turn around at the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Hiya, Harry."

Vassago took a seat behind Dumbledore's desk, pausing to survey the wrecked doodads strewn about the room. "I'd admonish you for acting immature, but you probably have every reason to be angry."

"Why are you here?" Harry asked, glancing up at the professor.

"I'm here because you signed an agreement, and I am inclined to honor said agreement."

"No, why even bother with any of this?" Harry shot back, standing up as he felt his second temper tantrum in half-an-hour rearing its head. "Why meddle with me? What do you have to gain with your hijinks? How do any of us benefit? Why intervene with Voldemort when you didn't even raise a finger to save Sirius?"

"Harry," Vassago said.

"You just flit in and out, like a clown, completely oblivious to the fact that this isn't a game, that people have died. You're no better than Dumbledore, giving no warning to your precious plans and motivations. What's your point, your purpose?"

Vassago moved across the office in a flash, faster than the boy could react. Arms wrapped around him, and he fought and struggled in a blind panic. Tears came, angry tears. Swears and curses and fury. Still the demon held tight, and Harry came to realize that he meant no harm, that it wasn't being held down, but held up.

He sagged into the hug, crying, for what seemed like forever. The demon ran a hand through his hair, rocking him, silent. Harry knew the silence: the kind that communicated complete understanding and sympathy without any words necessary.

"You know, everyone has called out for help at some time or another." the demon whispered finally. "You called out in that graveyard, and I heard you and, in one of those rare moments that they write about in cheesy stories, I came.

"You didn't need me, really. You would have come out alright. This year would still have happened, but you'd have been alone, wallowing in your angst and misery. It would have eaten you alive inside.

"Maybe I am a hindrance, Harry. I can't be the solution to all your problems. How many other people have called out to me or the big man upstairs, hoping for help? Too many to count. I can't be there every time, Harry. That would make things too dull. People suffer, yes, and it's a horrible pain to bear. Sometime there's nothing else to do but bear it."

Harry buried his head in the demon's shoulder. "It hurts."

"It always hurts," Vassago replied. "But you're not alone. You have your friends, who care for you, who will fight for you. You've always had them, and you always will. That's what's amazing about humans; even when their prayers go unanswered, they can still go on each and every day. They face pain and loss on a daily basis, but still they go on, they go to work, they fight immeasurable odds, and they succeed. I have confidence that you can do the same, Harry."

"One of us will die," Harry said, "your stupid fucking prophecy told us so."

"Yes, but the odds are 50/50. I meant what I said at the Ministry, Harry: I'd hedge my bets on you. Because you're human, the most underdog of underdogs. You'll pull through, face the impossible, and come out on top. It'll be hard, and at times you'll wonder how you'll go on, but you'll make it. I have the utmost faith that you'll make it."

Vassago let go, placing his hands on Harry's shoulders and smiling at them. "Now, clean yourself up and go to sleep. Your friends are probably waiting for you. If you tell them I gave you that foolish little pep talk, I'll kill you for cramping my street cred, dig?"

"I can't go out there with my face like this," Harry said with a laugh, rubbing the tears from his cheeks.

"Take all the time you want," Vassago said, heading towards the stairs. "I'm going to find Minnie. Girl's got a bottle of Glenfiddich with my name on it."

Harry listened as the demon's footsteps faded down the stairs, then he slumped back into the chair and closed his eyes, calming his breaths as he steeled himself for his friend's reactions back in the common room. There'd be a lot of explaining, a lot of uncertainty to face. God knows he'd have to be ready.

He paused. Another set of feet were coming up the stairs. He shook his head, it was probably Dumbledore, or Remus, or, god-forbid, Snape.

"Harry," the voice said, and his heart leapt up through his throat and throttled his brain.

He slowly turned, fearful it was a ghost, but the Sirius Black standing in the doorway was very much corporeal. He leapt out the chair and threw himself at his godfather, letting loose all the tears he'd been trying to reign back in. "You're alive!" he choked out.

Sirius hugged him, laughing. "Thought I was a goner for a while. That Vassago fellow found me, wherever I was, brought me back. I'll admit, for a Dark Arts professor, he's more competent than I'd have expected. Saved me from the grave, all he asked for was my signature on some funny little document. Asked for nothing in return. 'Favor for a friend,' he called it. Not too bad for a demon."

Harry laughed and shook his head, "The crafty devil."

* * *

A week later, the Great Hall was filled to capacity for the final feast. Dumbledore had retaken his place at the head of the staff table. Nobody had seen Umbridge since the night of the Ministry battle, and Vassago was being very tight-lipped on the subject. The demon had regained his seat, too, completely oblivious to Snape's fierce glares.

Dumbledore rose, and the hall fell silent. "Now comes the part many of you have been waiting for, the awarding of the House Cup." Several of the students cheered, but it was rather half-hearted. Dumbledore smiled sheepishly. "Yes, as you all are no doubt aware, Slytherin House benefitted greatly from Headmistress Umbridge's tenureship, being awarded a record-breaking six thousand points for their work on the Inquisitorial Squad. Doubtless, while the current standing headmaster can override such points, due to my reinstatement still pending with the Board of Governors, I am afraid I must let the matter stand." This statement was greeted with jeers and boos from throughout the hall.

Vassago pushed himself to his feet. "Actually, headmaster, I think I may have a solution to this problem."

The headmaster seemed surprised by the demon's interruption, "Indeed, Professor Vassago? Do enlighten us."

"I call to the ancient Hogwarts Charter for reference," Vassago said, producing the document with a snap of his fingers. "There is a clause that states that if a headmaster is defeated by another professor in a duel of honor, said professor gains the title of headmaster from the defeated by conquest. As I may have had a hand in Miss Umbridge's sudden disappearance, I am, in effect, Headmaster of Hogwarts."

Snape choked on his drink, as did half of the student body.

"Thus," Vassago continued, smiling, "I think that some last-minute points are in order.

"To Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley, and Luna Lovegood, for great bravery in acting against common sense for the good of friendship, I award a hundred points to each of their houses.

"To Hermione Granger, for putting aside old superstitious beliefs, and for acting the perpetual voice of reason, I award a hundred points.

"To Ron Weasley, for demonstrating excellent control of a muggle handgun, I award a hundred points.

"And, to Harry Potter, for putting up with a frankly ungodly amount of bullshit this past year, I award two hundred points."

Dumbledore smiled, waiting for the applause to die down. "Well, thank you, professor. As it now stands, we appear to be in a tie. Gryffindor and Slytherin will now share the cup."

"Wait, I'm not finished," Vassago said, raising a hand. "There is one final recipient. To Draco Malfoy, for going against a millenia of pureblood dogma and breaking character for the better, I award a hundred points."

Draco, who had previously been nervously playing with his food at the far end of the Slytherin table, having become a social pariah among his peers, suddenly sat upright in surprise. The cheering faltered, only to be replaced by further boos. "What? Slytherin wins, but now they do it with some degree of honor. Fucking sue me, I'm out. Let's change the banners." He quickly hit the deck as a full goblet of pumpkin juice smashed above his head. "Okay, who fucking threw that? I'm looking at you, Hufflepuff. Next time you want points, try and flesh out your characters better!"

 **Sorry if this all seemed a bit rushed. I feel compelled to wrap up year five. Yeah, I brought back Sirius. You gotta admit, he deserves some more screen time.**

 **There will be one more chapter, and then I'll start work on Year Six. Hope you're all as excited as I am.**

 **Also, it's my birthday. Hip hip hooray, am I right? 22. Big whoop.**


	19. Things to Come

The compartment was silent as the train left Hogsmeade Station. Harry sat by the window, watching Hogwarts in the distance as it was swallowed by trees and mist. Ron played with his handgun; Hermione supervised. Neville and Luna were both lost in books: Neville in an herbology text, Luna in a small volume titled 'Breaking the Fourth Wall for Fun and Profit'. Ginny was watching Harry, smiling.

"How are you spending your summer, Harry?" she asked.

"I'm going back to the Dursleys for a while," Harry said. "At least until Sirius's legal issues are sorted out for him to take custody."

"It was nice of Vassago to save Sirius's life," Hermione said grudgingly.

"Yeah, can't believe I'm saying this, but hail Satan!" Ron added.

The compartment door swung open. Malfoy stood in the hall, staring in awkwardly. "Vassago wants to talk to you, Harry."

Harry sighed and stood up, motioning his friends to stay put. "I'll be back soon."

Ginny, however, stood up and grabbed Malfoy by the collar. " _If I hear you two were screwing, I'll collect your fucking head_ ," she whispered in the blonde's ear. Malfoy blanched and nodded vigorously.

Vassago was sitting alone in the next compartment, the window rolled down to air out the cigarette smoke. "Hello, Harry."

"Professor," Harry replied with a smile.

"No need for that, Dumbledore fired me last night."

"Not very surprising," Draco said calmly, "you weren't a very good teacher."

"Yeah, and it seems a lot of the parents were very leery at the idea of having a demon teaching children magic," Vassago said. "Racists, all of them. I'm filing a discrimination complaint."

"What does this mean for you teaching us?" Harry asked.

"I'll still be around. I don't need to be a professor to see you in Hogwarts. As for studies, just keep reading that little book of yours, and practice till your eyes bleed. I'm told that's a common side effect of reading cursed books. It doesn't last, usually."

Malfoy nodded and turned around. "I'd better go. The Slytherins are calling a meeting to discuss my affiliation with you."

"Are you in trouble?" Harry asked.

"Probably not. They'll probably want to high five me a lot."

"See, its things like that that make people think Slytherin is the evil house," Vassago said.

Malfoy shrugged, "Oh, come on, you gave us the House Cup. You're a hero among us."

"I'm honored. Tell them I accept fan mail."

Malfoy shook his head and left the compartment. Harry stayed behind. "Thank you, again, for everything."

"Don't thank me yet," the demon said with a grin. "We've still got two books of this shit ahead of us. It'll be tough, dangerous. Nothing you aren't used to. Are you up for it?"

Harry smiled. "Hell, yes."

 **TO BE CONTINUED:**

 _"That was a terrible pun."_

 _"I know."_


	20. Preview: Devil's Advocate

**Coming soon,** ** _Devil's Advocate_** **, the sequel to** ** _Devil's Covenant_** **.**

 **A sneak preview of things to come:**

 _"I'm pregnant," Malfoy said flatly._

 _"Fuck. That." Harry replied._

* * *

 _"Where did all the zombies come from?" Ron shouted, emptying a pistol mag into a horde of undead._

 _"It was a live demonstration gone horribly wrong!" Vassago replied as he pulled back the cord of his chainsaw._

* * *

 _"This sangria is terrible."_

 _"That's the fruit salad, Professor."_

* * *

 _"The bomb has two wires, a red one and a blue one," Vassago's voice crackled over the radio. "You have to cut the blue one."_

 _"They're both blue!" Harry shouted back._

 _"Oh. Remember when I said don't panic?"_

 _"Yeah."_

 _"Disregard that. Panic."_

* * *

 _"We both know what he has to do," Dumbledore said._

 _"Yes, but does he?" Vassago shot back, eyes blazing._

* * *

 _"Why do I have a feeling this year is going to be more fucked up than the last?" Harry asked, shaking his head._

 _Luna smiled spacily. "_ _ **Don't worry, it'll probably fail to meet the reader's expectations.**_ _"_


End file.
